Breath of Life
by MrsElizabethDarcy
Summary: After the Pamuk incident, Mary moves to America, but when Matthew has to face a life without her, he realizes that he can't bear it. What happens when he goes after her? A turn of events obliges Mary and Matthew to rebuild their relationship (not an angst-fest).
1. Chapter 1

**Breath of Life: chapter** 1

"Cousin Matthew," Mary said dryly as she finally saw him standing at the door to the drawing room of Martha Levinson's house in Newport.

He wanted to say something, to tell her how he felt, to rush to her and take her into his arms, press his lips to hers. But the sight in front of him crushed his heart, made his blood go cold and suddenly he could not find his voice.

Mary was sitting next to the fire place, her legs, covered by a soft blanket, stretched in front of her. She looked even paler than usual and she had dark circles under her eyes, which were red and watery, he noted, as if she had just been crying. But that wasn't what really caught his attention. Her ever so beautiful thin, elegant body was now scrawny and fragile except for one part. The swell was gentle, but it was definitely visible and very _real_, he noticed as her hands covered it protectively.

"Mary," he said in a barely audible tone as felt his legs tremble.

* * *

They didn't like each other. Or at least they didn't want to.

When he first arrived at Downton, in 1912, he didn't want to be there, he hadn't asked for that and it was hardly fair that he should inherit everything against his own will. It wasn't fair to him, it wasn't fair to the family and it certainly wasn't fair to the people who would, later, depend on him. He didn't want any of that and it wasn't fair that he couldn't refuse it.

What rights did he have to inherit anything just because he had been born a boy?

When Mary first heard of Matthew, she immediately disliked the idea of him. _As if a middle-class solicitor would be able to manage the Estate_, she laughed dismissively at the thought. She grew up believing that, one day, she would be mistress of the house; she had been raised to play that role. She had been prepared to be a wife, to play calls, to choose clothes. What would she do now? Of course she despised the idea of being married to Patrick, but that would at least provide her with what should have always been hers and, since she knew that she would never marry for love, that was reason enough. But even that had been taken from her.

What rights did he have to inherit anything just because she had been born a girl?

Their first impressions weren't any better. When he finally arrived at the village, which was quite nice, he had to admit, all he could think was how his cousins would certainly try to change him and push one of their snob, hideous daughters at him. The Earl had seemed nice enough in London, sympathetic even, but he still couldn't see how the family would take well to the new heir being the son of a middle-class doctor._ Upper middle-class_.

Mary, on the other hand, could only think about how he was probably an unattractive, uneducated man who couldn't wait to put his hands on her father's money and title. It was true that her father had said that he seemed a nice enough fellow, but surely he was only trying to make things a bit more bearable for everyone.

"They're clearly going to push one of the daughters at me," he told his mother right before the butler announced Lady Mary's presence. If they, as he had been sure, already had little opinion of him, he had just confirmed their expectations. And he cursed himself for his poor choice of words.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," she said and tried to conceal her satisfaction. She had been right, of course she had. He was jus as she had expected him to be.

But as they looked at each other, for the briefest of the moments, there was something more in there. A spark or something none of them could quite define. Yes, he was the prig she had imagined. And sure, she was the snob he had pictured. But there was something more, something in her pale complex that made his heart flutter. Oh, and his blue eyes gazing so deeply at hers had such an appeal that made her catch her breath.

And his eyes were glued in her – so different from what he had pictured. He stared at her and he could see her mouth moving and hear the sound of the words she was saying, but he couldn't make out the meaning of them, too dazed by the very image of her.

"Oh no, you're far too busy," she chose her words carefully and gazed at him, "and I wouldn't want to push in," and that was just enough to break him out of his trance. _Idiot!_

"Lady Mary," he tried to fix things before she left. "I was only joking."

"Of course," she grinned, satisfaction filling every part of her body, "and I agree, the whole thing is a complete joke."

_Idiot!_ He cursed himself again. She already didn't have any reason to like him, why would she? And he had just made it worse. If they hadn't been destined to be close friends, he had just sealed their fate. Not that he _wanted_ to be friends with her, but they should at least try to be civil to one another, he supposed. And he had definitely started on the wrong foot.

_Why should a woman be forced to give away all her money to a distant cousin of her husband's?_

During the events that followed, she confirmed his suspicions and made it quite clear that she didn't like the idea of him and wasn't willing to let him change the image she had made of him. He was just an intruder and nothing more. Mama's suggestion was absurd! _Marry a man who can barely hold his knife like a gentleman,_ and she shriveled at the idea. Oh no, she wouldn't marry a sea monster.

"I've been studying the story of Andromeda," she said one evening and looked pointedly at him. "Do you know it?"

"Why?" oh, he knew where that was going.

"Her father was king Cepheus, whose country was being ravaged by storms and, in the end, he decided that the only way to appease the gods was to sacrifice his eldest daughter to a hideous sea monster. So the chained her naked to a rock," _you see, you're not one of ours. It doesn't matter what you or anyone think, I'll not be married to a sea monster_.

"But the sea monster didn't get her, did he?" He didn't want to play her game, but there was something about her so daring, so tempting.

"No," oh, so he was smarter than he had given him credit for. "Just when it seemed he was the only solution to her father's problems, she was rescued-"

"By Perseus," he interrupted her. _Oh, I can play too_.

"That's right," she said surprised. She really didn't like to find a fair opponent in her own game. "Perseus, son of a God. Rather more fitting, wouldn't you say?"

"That depends, I'd have to know more about the sea monster and the princess in question," he knew he shouldn't talk like this, not with other people in the room anyway. But he couldn't resist. He was too dazed by her, drawn into their own private game to care.

And that was how their relationship kept going. She would snap at him, making clear that his presence was unwanted, and he would get back at her, teasing, pushing her. Oh no, he didn't want to be there either, but he couldn't back away. He hardly wanted to be _friends_ with Cousin Mary, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of proving her right by acting like the complete fool she had tried to make of him.

As the weeks went by, though, he noticed that something had changed. Maybe it was just that they'd started to talk more, they had begun to even try to be more civil towards one another – or rather, he had been acting civil towards hers. For some reason, he couldn't dislike her. Yes, he had all the reasons to, but there was something about her, something that kept drawing him towards her, something that wouldn't allow him to stay away from long. But no, that was not it. Mary had suddenly started to show some sort of _vulnerability_.

* * *

After the Pamuk incident, Mary realized how low she had sunk, how reckless she had acted. But, for some reason, it had made her seek Cousin Matthew's company. Not seek, exactly. But she started to like being around him, he somehow made her forget all the shame she carried and feel free again. With him she almost felt – happy.

She didn't know if it was because she didn't think of herself as worth of anyone or anything anymore, but she slowly begun to let her guard down near Matthew, seeing more of who he truly was.

It was gradual though, starting when he looked for her right after the – _incident_. It moved her in a strange way to think that he wanted to see how she was doing. Could he worry, maybe even care about her? And she realized, for the first time, that she might indeed have misjudged him.

And, just like that, he noted that his presence wasn't unwanted anymore. They'd talk, walk together and even laugh at each other's jokes. And, during one of those talks, he finally understood her. While she admitted that maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

"So, are you enjoying your new life?" it was a simple question, but he could see it didn't hold any second intentions.

"Yes, I think so," he said, "I know my work seems very trivial to you."

"Not necessarily," _if only she had something to do, something to live for._ "Sometimes I rather envy you, having somewhere to go every morning."

"I thought that might be very middle-class," had she really changed that much?

"You should learn to forget what I say. I know I do," the past few days had made her see how much of a fool she had been. Of course she had every right and reason to despise him, but she hadn't even given him the chance to show who he really was. And she regretted that. Maybe, if she hadn't been so stubborn, she wouldn't have fought her feelings. _Her feelings_. And realization washed through her as she finally admitted that there might be much more to it than she would like.

"How about you? Is your like proving satisfactory? Apart from the great matter, of course."

"Women like me don't have a life," she admitted sadly. "We choose clothes and pay calls and work for charity and – do the season. But really, we're stuck in a waiting room until we marry."

And then it struck him. Of course she would despise him; his mere presence was a threat to the only life she had ever known. When she had been promised to Patrick, she believed that she'd have everything that should have been hers from the beginning, not in the way she would like, but she would have it. And now he was taking all of that away from her again. He was taking the only life she had ever known away from her.

"I'm sorry, I've made you angry," he said, but those words held much more than she would ever know.

"My life makes me angry, not you," she smiled as she finally allowed herself to see that he wasn't he one to blame. In fact, once she had started to know him, she found it quite easy to be near him. _Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to marry a sea monster after all_.

But her blissfulness was taken away just as quickly as it had come.

* * *

"Is Cousin Mary around?" he asked Cora a couple of days later.

"Oh Matthew," she paused and took a steadying breath. "She's gone."

**To be continued...**

* * *

_*A/N: This story came up in my mind this afternoon and suddenly I just had to write it. I know that people have written a ton of ffs about the Pamuk incident, but this one will be VERY different from all of them, I can assure you that. You are in for a roller coaster of emotions, believe me._

_I hope you like it and I hope that you decide to stay with me. Please review and let me know your thoughts (good or bad), so I at least know if I should continue or not :) Xx_


	2. Chapter 2

**Breath of Life: chapter 2**

_Downton_

"What do you mean Mary's gone?" he asked confused.

"She went to," she hesitated, what could she tell him? Not the truth, of course. But she didn't want to tell him the story they'd settled upon either, as it would surely crush him. "Mary and Robert had a fight," she began carefully. "He still refuses to break the entail for her." Cora said and hoped he'd believe. But she hated to lie, especially as she could see the hopeful, almost boyish, look on his face. The look of a man who was eager to see the woman with whom he had fallen in love. The look, the love that she was about to obliterate.

"Oh," he said with a sigh. Weren't they past that? And his cheerful mood suddenly turned into frustration.

"You see, the thing is," she paused again; studying his mien she could see that he hadn't fully understood the implications of her previous words. "Mary will live with her grandmother for a while."

"Cousin Violet?" he asked naively, believing that Mary only wanted was to be away from the house for a while.

"No, with my mother. In America."

And she saw the exact moment when it finally hit him. How his expression quickly changed from expectation to something close to grief; how his smile immediately faded away and his face fell.

"America," he sighed, skeptical.

"Matthew," she took a step forward and rested her palm on his arm, trying to somehow comfort him – when, in fact, she was as heartbroken herself. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Of course not," he replied automatically and forced a wry smile as he turned on his heels and walked away from the house.

He could feel the fury building up inside of him. He was angry at Robert for putting him – them – into that mess, at Cousin Patrick for dying, at the Parliament for passing such stupid laws, and more than anything, at Mary. He was furious. How could she have been so thoughtless? She had wanted to take what was rightfully his only to leave like that, without any sort of explanation. What about him? He had truly believed that there had been something more between them. Hadn't his words meant anything for her? Didn't she trust him? He had been ready to give up his birthright for her... A birthright that was his only because it hadn't been hers.

But he was irrationally angry. As rage burned inside of his veins, all he would allow himself to see was that Mary had left him. And, in his eyes, that could only mean that she didn't feel anything for him, that he had, once again, made a fool of himself. She must have been after the title all along, and he laughed dismissively at the thought.

And, as he walked away, he looked back one more time and he contemplated, sadly, what they could have had together. But she had left him and he knew he should try to move on. He ought to try to put her in a small box and forget about her – even if all he wanted was to hold her, to feel her sweet scent again, to stroke her rosy cheeks, to press his lips to hers.

As the time went on, though, that rage slowly turned into an aching longing. He would walk past the village and remember how they had had fun at the fair, he would walk through the grounds and think of how he used to observe her reading outside when she wasn't looking, he would sit at their bench and remember all the conversations they had had… All the flirting, the teasing.

And, during one cloudy morning, as he walked past that same old tree under which their bench sat, he realized that he wanted all of that back… The banter, the endless provocation. That he'd rather have that Mary, who was a ruthless teaser, than have no Mary at all.

* * *

"Matthew!" Robert stood up as he saw the young man rushing into the library without any sort of announcing. "What can I do for you?"

"Cousin Robert," he begun carefully, "I – I'm afraid there's something I must ask you."

"What is it, my boy?" Robert was agog to understand what could Matthew possibly want.

"You see, I've been meaning to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter." He decided that there was no reason to defer, so he just said it at once. If the entail was the reason for her to go away, then he was willing to make Downton hers (and get her back) in the only way he could.

"Matthew, are you mad?!" he asked astonished. "She's in America."

"Yes, I know." He said in such a natural, calm way that it felt as if Mary had been at Crawley House for the past couple of months, not thousands of miles away. And the confidence and the determination in Matthew's tone awakened some sort of long lost hope in Robert. If a man was willing to cross half world for his daughter, perhaps he would take her in spite of her… _condition_.

"Of course you have my blessing," he laughed in a mix of hope and disbelief. "But how exactly do you plan to get her to marry you?"

"I have a plan."

And he did.

* * *

_America_

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, almost whispered, to the languid figure in front of him.

"Why would I?" she said in her typical Lady Mary tone; her chin up and eyebrows raised.

The sight of her caused him to feel the first rational emotion he had had in months. Mary looked like a shadow of herself: sallow, scrawny, feeble… And it pained him beyond words to see her so clearly weakened, fragile and yet the same stubborn and proud Mary. At the same time, he felt incredibly powerless for not being able to do anything… For not having done anything.

"Please, Mary," he begged as he found a chair and fell upon it, his legs seemed unable to sustain his weight for much longer. "I'm only trying to understand it."

"There's nothing to understand," she sat up straighter and pressed a hand to the swell where her child lay as she felt a small kick. "I took a lover, Matthew. In Mama's phrase, I'm damaged goods now."

"Don't say that," he cried. "If only you had told me…"

"What would you have done, Matthew?" she interrupted him. "Would you have proposed? I thought you might," she said dryly. "But this isn't your burden to bear."

"Marry me," he said firmly as stood up and stopped right in front of her chair.

She could see the passion, the eagerness in his eyes. And that look brought all of her feelings back to surface. The feelings, the love, the youthful passion she obliged herself to lock away as soon as Dr. Clarkson pronounced the words _you're pregnant _and her world fell apart. But, at that moment, all she wanted to do was to get up and fall right into his arms, tell him how she hadn't asked for any of that, how she hadn't wanted Pamuk there that night, how she had begun to fall in love with that boy from Manchester standing in front of her. But no, that wasn't his burden to carry and she wouldn't allow him to destroy any chance of happiness he might have because she had fallen.

"Oh Matthew, you don't mean that," she sighed and tried to hide the sorrow in her tone. "You don't love me."

"How can you say that?" he cried as her words felt like a knife on his throat. Had she forgotten all he had done for her?

"You don't know me, how can you love me?" she gazed deeply into his eyes and cursed herself for all the damaged she had done and was about to do to that man who had crossed half world for her. "You've created an image of me and that's who you've fallen in love with. Look at me, Matthew," and she stroked her stomach. "_This_ is who I am."

"That's not true," he said in a barely audible voice, almost a whisper.

"Then who am I, Matthew?" she said as the tears she had been holding back finally started to fall.

She was the stubborn, proud eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. She was the strong woman who wouldn't let a bunch of men dictate her life, who wouldn't give up before putting up a fight. She was the intelligent girl who would discuss literature for hours with him. She was the kind woman who wouldn't let a footman lose his mother without saying goodbye. She was _his_ Mary.

But before he could say anything, she took a deep breath and held both of her hands to her stomach as a twinge of pain hit her.

"What's wrong?" he hurried towards her and the color drained from her face.

"I just need some rest, that's all," she said without looking him, too focused on the new wave of pain that hit her. "You should go."

"Mary," he practically implored her.

"We can finish this another day," she cried. "Leave, please."

The scared look on her face showed him that that was no time to argue, so he did as she asked and left. But he knew they needed to finish that talk, so he went back as soon as he could, hoping that she would receive him again.

* * *

On the next day, however, the butler told him that Lady Mary was under medical orders to rest and should not be disturbed and asked him to come back in a couple of days. And so, during the following week, he stopped by her house every day, but she would not see him. At first she claimed that the doctor had advised her to rest, then the butler would say she had a visitor or that she had a headache and, by the end of the week, they wouldn't even give him a reason for her not seeing him anymore.

It was on the 10th day that he decided that he ought to do something.

He knocked on her door in the late afternoon and, again, the butler said that she couldn't see him. That time, however, he ignored the older man and burst the door open, walking past him and rushing up the stairs until he found her room.

The door was ajar and his blood ran cold as he realized what he had just done. He had gone through his speech several times in the past days, but, standing right there, he couldn't remember of a single word he had intended to say.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, slightly annoyed, from where she lay in bed, never taking the eyes off her book.

"I…" his voice trembled. "We need to talk."

"I don't mean here," and she gesture to where he was standing in the room. "I meant in America."

"I wanted to take you home," he admitted softly. "I came to ask for your hand. But even if you said no, I had hoped you would still agree to go back."

"Oh Matthew," she laughed bitterly. "How would you take me back?"

"I…" he hesitated and gazed down, entangling his fingers nervously. "I wanted to tell you that, if you married me Downton would be yours, but if you didn't… Well, if you didn't, I'd still pass it all to you after I inherited it."  
"Oh Matthew," her heart lurched as she realized that, as far as he knew, she had gone away because of the entail. And suddenly all she could feel was love for him, for all he was willing to do for her. But to ask her to take her child… No, that would be too much.

"What happened?" he asked worriedly as she took a deep breath and pressed her hand to her belly. "You don't look well, Mary. What's wrong?"

"The doctor said it was the crossing," she admitted shyly as he gazed down to the swell where her hand rested. "He said that, because I was very sick for a while, I wasn't strong enough to travel and it led to some complications."

"But will everything be alright? You and the baby?"

"I hope so," she looked back at him and, for the first time, he saw how genuinely scared she was. She was terrified at the thought of losing her child. Of course it hadn't been concieved out of love, but that baby was her baby and she knew she already loved it more than she ever thought she would. And she would do anything to protect it.

"Let me take care of you," he sat in a chair near her bed and gazed deeply into her eyes.

"And you would be willing to raise another man's child?"

"Oh Mary," he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. It pained him to think that, if she had told him about the baby back at Downton, he probably wouldn't have been able to take care of that child, but now it didn't matter anymore. He had lived a life without her and he didn't want that again. And that child, it was Mary's baby. How could he feel anything but affection for it? Even if that feeling didn't come straight away. "This is your child and that's all that matters."

"But what if we're married and it's a boy?" and her stomach dropped again as she thought of the possibility of her child being the heir to Downton.

"Then everything will be his, like it should have been yours," he looked at her with such honestly in his eyes that she thought her heart would burst with love. All the feelings she had locked away for the past months came rushing to her and suddenly all she wanted was to fall into his arms.

"Oh, my darling," she rested her palm on his cheek and gently stroked it with her thumb. "But even if we're married, what will people say when the baby comes seven months before it possibly could? And what if it looks like _him_?"

"I doesn't matter," he smiled shyly at her and took her hand, from where it rested on his face, in his, playing with her fingers. The possibility scared him too, but he had to be strong for her. And even if the baby had dark eyes and hair, well… so did Mary.

So she reached for him and he moved to sit beside her. He put his arms around her, right above her shoulders, and she leaned on to him.

"I can get us a special license and we can be married within a week," he said.

"Thank you," she whispered as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

* * *

A week later, on their wedding day, Matthew waited for her. He waited and waited and waited, but she never came.

* * *

_*A/N: Thank you so much for your positive response to this story! I'm sorry it took so long to update, but I didn't know how to handle this chapter, so I decided I'd split it in two (chapter 3 is where my AU version, that's quite different from the others, start). This was mainly focused on Matthew, but from now on it'd be quite an inner search for Mary. I hope you liked this chapter and that you decide to stay with me. Gotta love a cliffhanger, han? lol_

_Oh! And since this is an AU, I'm changing the timeline a bit... I hope you don't mind! Also, in my mind Mary left Downton when she was a little over 3 months along and it took Matthew almost the same to go after her, so now she's around 6/7 months pregnant. And, in case you're wondering, I didn't think it was necessary for Mary to explicitly tell Matthew that the child was Pamuk's as he would have been able to make the connection (and that's something a want to explore on the next chapters)._

_Plase review, I'd love to know your thoughts! Comments are very helpful because they help me to know if people like the story (and which aspects you like or not, which aspects I should change) and they motivate me to update. :) Xx_

_Ps.: I'm sorry for any grammar issues, I'm not feeling very well and I decided to write this as my painkillers won't work and I can't sleep, so I didn't really check the chapter this time._


	3. Chapter 3

***A/N: Important! Guys, remember how I said I wans't feeling well when I wrote chapter 2? Well, I messed up the timeline of the story a bit, Mary is seven months along, not six (I'll explain everything at the end of the chapter). Sorry about that and enjoy!**

* * *

**Breath of Life: chapter 3**

Matthew was barely able to sleep on the night before the wedding. He would marry Lady Mary Crawley in less than 12 hours, how marvelous and surreal that sounded. Too excited and thrilled to even consider closing his eyes, he lay in bed wide awake, shifting restlessly from one side to another, thinking of her, of how their troubled past had led to that and contemplating what the future could possibly hold for them.

Then he thought of her child – their child, as he had promised himself that her baby would be no less than that. And as he, once again, vowed to love that baby as much as he'd love any child they might have, he slowly closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. And he dreamed of home, of Downton, of them.

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the weather was delightful, not too warm or too cold. They were all in the garden, Matthew on their bench, smiling as he observed Mary trying to catch a dark-haired little girl, who couldn't have been more than four, and chuckling as they both fell on the grass and she moved closer to her daughter, tickling the little girl's sides as they both laughed together. After a few moments though, the girl stood up and ran towards the bench where he sat and his heart lurched at the sight of her. How innocent and beautiful she was, Mary's spitting image, he noted – the same dark curls and deep eyes that gazed lovingly at him.

_Papa_, she called. C_ome play with us!_

He scooped her up and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead as her arms came around his neck. _I'll go as soon as Nanny gets back, alright?_ He poked her chubby cheeks playfully. _Reggie is a little fussy today. I don't think we should leave him alone, do you?_ He looked at the blue-eyed baby in the cot next to them and, as if to confirm his father's words, he let out a little distressed cry.

_Alright_, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and ran back to her mother.

However, as the sunlight crept through the windows, the reverie was interrupted and he slowly woke up with a smile on his face. Remembering the dream he had just had, he understood that Mary's baby would be his child – was his child already – and how perfectly content he'd be to see that reality: Mary and their child in their home. Their children, he corrected happily. And he felt his heart flutter with anticipation as he thought of how close to becoming true that dream was. He eagerly stood up and quickly got dressed, leaving his hotel as soon as the clock rang 9am, unable to control his excitement any longer and thinking of Mary while he waited for her.

But the wait slowly changed from minutes to hours and frustration started to build up inside of him. At first he thought she was just fashionably late, like any other bride, but, as the minutes went on, he realized that it'd be useless to wait any longer and, suddenly, anger filled every fiber of his body. After everything they had been through, after everything he had done, how could she abandon him again? That time, however, he decided that he wouldn't let her dictate their lives, that she wouldn't just run away without talking to him.

"Where's Lady Mary?" he questioned, angry, as the butler opened the door.

But there was no need to answer as a loud, distressed cry – definitely Mary's – echoed through the house, making him run past the tall man by the door, quickly reaching the top of the stairs.

* * *

On the night before the wedding, sleep wouldn't come. Mary felt dreadfully uncomfortable as the baby kept kicking her ribs and pouching every organ it could reach, as if it could sense the anxiety that had been building up inside her within the past week. After a few steadying breaths however, the baby calmed a bit and she was finally able to close her eyes and get some rest.

Peace didn't come though. As she drifted to sleep, she dreamed of Matthew, who, she noted, was holding a baby, softly singing to it.

_He looks just like his papa, _he smiled as she approached them.

_Oh Mary,_ her mother suddenly appeared from nowhere, _the baby is he's spitting image._

_Come and see him,_ it was Edith's voice.

With eager anticipation, she smiled and took a step closer to them, bending down to look at the child, who, she expected, would have blond curls and piercing blue eyes.

_No!_ She screamed in desperation, in horror even, as she looked at the little boy. It was Pamuk. The same dark eyes and hair, the Mediterranean semblance, his skin darker than hers or any other Crawley, making her shameful behavior quite clear to everyone. _No!_ She cried out again and tried to escape, but Matthew and the baby would appear in every direction she tried to run.

_Look at him, Mary,_ he would say.

However, whilst the sunlight shyly crept through the windows, the nightmare ended abruptly as she felt a twinge of pain deep in her stomach, taking her breath away and bringing her mind back to reality.

* * *

"What's happening?" Mary held the doctor's hand and asked in despair as soon as he finished examining her. She pressed her lips together and tried to stifle the sound of her crying as the tears kept falling from her eyes.

"I'm afraid you're in labor," he said softly and paused for a moment, noticing the blood drain from her face. "There's nothing I can do to stop it, I'm sorry."

"The baby's not ready! It can't be," she cried out and looked at the elder man, seeking some kind of comfort, some kind of reassurance that her child would be fine, even if she knew it not to be true. "What will happen to them?" but she already knew the answer to that.

"There's a heartbeat, a strong one," he spoke carefully. "I'll do everything in my power to save the child."

"But they're not ready!" she wept again, bending over as another sharp wave of pain hit her. "30 weeks, that's too early," it was almost a whisper.

Perhaps she should have been relieved; if there had been no baby there would have been no shame to bear – no public shame anyway. Maybe this was happening so she would be free again. But she wasn't relieved nor did she feel happy. On the contrary, she was paralyzed with fear; regret and sorrow crushing her as she remembered how she had cursed the innocent child within her. She had been so angry at that baby, so bitter. She had, for so long, wished it didn't exist. But then she had felt it move and kick, she had observed her stomach grow rounder and fuller each week that passed; and she finally understood that her child was real, alive inside of her and that they'd come sooner rather than later. And how could she hate that baby? She told herself that it didn't matter how it had been conceived, after all, how many people had children within loveless marriages? It was then that a wave of love washed over her and she realized that that baby was _her_ child and that was all that mattered. Suddenly, she simply knew, beyond any doubt, that she'd do anything to protect that little person whose face she was eager to see.

"Lady Mary," he spoke firmly. "Your baby's coming. I need you to be strong."

"I can't," she sobbed and held her stomach protectively. "Please," she gazed deeply into his eyes, her pain and desperation obvious as a dry, muffled sob came out of her mouth. "Please, help me."

"There's something we could try," he begun hesitantly, unsure if Mary and the baby would resist the drive, considering how weak she had been. "But I'd have to take you to the hospital."

She grabbed his hand and nodded firmly, her eyes filled with tears again as she stared at him. "Anything."

"I'll call an ambulance," he said and turned away. But before he could leave, Matthew stormed into the room, rushing past him and kneeling besides Mary's bed.

"Mary," he felt his heart shatter as she gasped in pain. He then looked at the doctor, seeking an explanation.

"We need to take her to the hospital," he said. "I was about to call an ambulance."

"There's no time," and, as if to confirm his words, she shouted in pain again. "We can take the motor, I'll carry her. If that's okay, I mean." Matthew gazed at Mary and she nodded in consentient, her eyes closed as she tried to bear the breathtaking pain that threatened to rip her apart. So he carefully took her in his arms and carried her until they reached the car and then into the hospital. "Everything's going to be alright," he whispered to her ear and he placed her in the hospital bed.

* * *

He sat in a cold, small space as he waited for what seemed like an eternity. He paced nervously from one side of the room to the other, covering it quickly and then turning back and making the same path again. As the hours went on, Mary's anguished cries grew closer and louder, and his stomach dropped at every single one of them. How could he have been so heartless, so blind as to think ill of her? He had seen how feeble, how fragile she was; he should have suspected something was amiss. Instead, he thought she had abandoned him again, and he cursed himself for that. _Idiot!_

All he wanted was to hold her and soothe her, tell her that everything would be alright. He wanted to be there so she would have a hand to hold, some sort of comfort to help her through that day, but panic overtook him as he thought of what was happening in there. To think that he had doubted that he could have loved the child that he already considered his. And his heart thudded loudly as it finally hit him, as he finally realized what would most likely be the fate of that helpless child, and he felt utterly terrified at the thought, so he felt his legs tremble and sunk on to a chair, hid his face in his hands and cried.

He didn't know for how long he had been sitting there, but he noted that Mary's cries had ceased and his stomach dropped again as there was no high-pitched wail of a newborn baby. There was only a dreadful silence that threatened to tear his heart apart as he impatiently waited for news of her – of them.

But it wasn't until an hour or so later that a nurse finally appeared at the door, her uniform covered by red stains. And his blood ran cold at the sight, what if… But he wouldn't push the thought through.

"She wants to see you," the elder woman finally said.

Alive! She was alive. But what about the baby? He opened his mouth and tried to ask, but no sound would come out of it. So, with trembling legs, he stood up and slowly made his way to the room down the hallway.

* * *

"You can go now," she said bitterly, her voice raw, as she noted him standing near the door. "You can go back to England."

"Mary," it came out almost as a whisper. The look on his face begged her to accept his support, to let him hold her, to allow him to come close again. The pain in his eyes made it clear that she wasn't the only one suffering with all of that.

"It's a girl," she said and stared blankly at her arms that felt empty without the weight of her daughter. _She_ felt empty without her baby.

"Is she," he paused and gazed at the four corners of the small white room, his heart dropped as there was no baby in sight. He stepped closer to her and then stopped before reaching the bed, trying to form the words. "Oh God, is she…"

"She's alive," she interrupted him as she noted his struggle.

Relief washed over him at the mention that their little girl was alive, but Mary wasn't happy. She should be happy if the baby was alive. "Mary," he said carefully, moving hesitantly to her side, but she turned her face away from him and gazed through the window, unable to face anyone at that moment.

"She's so small," she said suddenly, after a long moment of dull silence. "She didn't cry, Matthew," she sobbed dryly; the words caught in her throat, but her mind unwilling to accept the truth they held. She knew that the moment she said it aloud, it'd become real and she'd have to face that reality, but she didn't know if she could do that. "She didn't cry. Oh God," she choked, putting her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, resting her face against her knees as she cried. "They say she probably won't make it through the night."

And she broke down.

She broke down as she remembered the feeling of being ripped apart, the breathtaking pain spreading all over her body, the raw screams coming out of her throat. And then there was only silence.

"It's a girl," the doctor had said.

She had believed that the pain would be gone the minute everything was over, but it only got worse. She didn't feel as if she was being split in two anymore, instead, she felt a painful void, worse than anything she had ever experienced, as she heard words being spoken, worried words, but no high-pitched wail of a newborn baby.

She looked around and finally found the doctor's gaze and he nodded as if to answer her unspoken question and confirm that her baby was alive. Emotion overtook her and her whole body shivered at the sight of her strong little girl, cradled in the nurse's arms, breathing and fighting for her life. She could feel her sweaty hands tremble, but all she wanted was to feel the warmth of her baby's skin against her own, so she finally held out her arms and reached for her daughter.

"Hello there," she whispered when her little girl was placed on her chest, curling against her neck, fitting perfectly there. And the emptiness she had felt only moments before faded away at once, the most genuine of the feelings filling every fiber of her body instead. She felt warm and complete and her heart swelled with love when she heard a barely audible blubber coming out of the petit baby in her arms for the first time.

"I'm sorry," she cried as she carefully held her baby. "Oh my darling girl, I'm so sorry." She rocked back and forth, in a soothing movement, gently rubbing the baby's back, treasuring every second she would have with her child.

And she finally allowed herself to look at her daughter, inspecting every part of her perfect little body, gently stroking her soft cheeks, her small legs, tracing the line of her delicate nose, holding her tiny hands within her own. Smiling lovingly as the girl sighed and let out a quiet cry when her mother pressed a kiss to the soft fluff of dark hair on her head and gently stoked her thumb against her small face.

"Lady Mary," the doctor begun hesitantly. "I'm afraid the nurse must take the baby now."

Her heart sunk at the mention of her daughter being taken away, but she knew it to be necessary and didn't protest. She looked down at the small bundle in her arms again, memorizing all of her delicate features, and pressed another kiss to her little head. "I love you," she said as the tears that leaked from her eyes fell on the baby's soft hair. "Please, don't give up," she chocked and stoked the girl's soft cheek again. Suddenly though, a little hand escaped from the blankets and grabbed Mary's thumb firmly, as if to say, _I'm trying, Mama. I promise I'll fight._ And nothing could have prepared Mary for the flood of love that rushed through every part of her at that moment. Nor to the painful emptiness that haunted her again as soon as the nurse lifted the baby from her arms.

"What will happen now?" she asked dryly, staring blankly at her arms and moving her hands restlessly, missing the weight of her child.

"She'll be placed in an incubator where she'll be taken care of."

"Will she live?" she faced away and stifled her cries as she already knew the answer.

"Lady Mary," he said firmly, causing her to gaze at him again. "The incubator will keep her warm and will, hopefully, prevent her from getting an infection – we'll also cover her eyes to help them develop. But she's very premature, so there are a number of other things that could go wrong. We'll do our best to save her, I promise you," he paused, giving her some time to gather herself. "The first few nights will be the worst, if she makes it through them, she might live. But you shouldn't get your hopes up."

"No!" she gasped and, suddenly, her world collapsed upon her shoulders and she violently sobbed as his words felt like a knife cutting into her chest.

* * *

"I'm so sorry," Matthew said softly and haltingly approached her bed, sitting on the edge of it, unsure if he should get any closer.

"Please, just go," it came out as a dry choke. Her red eyes still facing away from him, even as she could feel the weight of his body on the other side of the bed and his gaze at her.

"Oh Mary," he sat near her and carefully wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body close to his. He had expected her to resist, but she just buried her face on his chest instead, breathing his comforting scent, her entire body shaking as she quietly wept. He knew that there wasn't anything he could say to make her feel better, so he just hugged her tighter, rubbed his hands soothingly over her back, pressed a kiss to the top of her head and kept telling her that he wasn't going anywhere. And then, as she cried herself to sleep, he finally allowed his own tears to fall.

* * *

_*A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the little timeline problem. I intended for Mary to be seven months along at Matthew's arrival, not six (so she would be almost 31 weeks by the wedding day). I really don't know why I wrote six, but I was in a lot of pain last week, so I didn't even realize my mistake. Anyway, I hope you don't mind it and I've already fixed it and reuploaded chapter 2._

_Now let me say that this chapter turned out quite differently from what I'd originally planned and it'll take this story through a whole other way. Let's just say that I wrote it the way I'd first intended and I didn't have the heart to post it as it brought back a lot of terrible personal memories. But I'm glad I changed it, as now I see that this new scenario will be much more interesting and will give me much more ground to work with (I'll elaborate it more later, because I don't want to spoil you)._

_Btw, have you ever seen House? Do you know the part where the baby grabs her thumb? It was inspired in that episode where they operate a baby in the woomb and his little hand comes out of it and grabs the doctor finger._

_What do you think of the story so far? I hope you're still with me ;) Xx_

_Ps.: I promise you that this will still be very different from the Pamuk stories out there. And I did some research before writing this... Incubators were indeed used at that time. I also read about premature babies on the XX century, so I didn't just come up with all of that lol_


	4. Chapter 4

**Breath of Life: chapter 4**

Matthew woke up to the sound of people chatting somewhere nearby, his eyelids fluttering heavily open as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He stretched his body, rubbed his face and finally reached for Mary as the horrid events of the previous night rushed back to his mind; the bed, however, was empty and cold. Startled, he opened his eyes at once and searched the four corners of the small room, hoping that perhaps she had moved to the chair by the window or had gone to the washroom, but she was nowhere in sight. Surprisingly though, he calmly sat up on the bed, put his shoes on and looked for his jacket, as he realized exactly where she'd be.

He slowly stood up, gazed at himself in the mirror, noticing for the first time the dark circles under his weary eyes, rubbed his face again and leisurely made his way down the hallway, reaching a large and rather well-illuminated room. He didn't enter it right away though, leaning against the door frame and peeking inside first, a very shy smile touched his lips as he noted that Mary was exactly where he had expected her to be. Yet, when he finally allowed himself to come closer, he didn't announce his presence, slowly walking into the room instead and stopping a few steps behind from where she sat quietly. Her eyes were watery and red, her hands shaky and her breath irregular and heavy as she stared motionless at the big metal box with two glassdoors in front of her. As he realized that his presence had gone unnoted, he finally looked inside the box and his heart lurched when he saw the very tiny, rosy baby inside of it.

"She's beautiful," he whispered quietly as he observed the baby's chest slowly rise and fall as she breathed in and out with some difficulty.

Mary never took his eyes off her daughter, in her mien a mixture of sorrow, pain and the most genuine love, he noted. "They said she had a tough night," her voice trembled.

He glanced at Mary and then at the little girl again and his world turned upside down. As soon as he saw the two of them together, he was somehow sure of what he had known since he had found Mary in pain the day before; that they were his family and that everything that had happened before didn't matter anymore. He was and would be the girl's father and he realized that he already loved her as such. "Mary, I…"

But she interrupted him, in her face an unreadable look. "Give me a moment, please," she whispered. He nodded behind her and sighed heavily as he haltingly left the room. As soon as she realized that she couldn't feel his gaze anymore, Mary's hand immediately flew to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to muffle a dry sob. "I'm sorry," she cried and her whole body shivered as she looked at her darling girl again. "I'm so sorry," she kept saying.

* * *

Earlier that morning, Mary woke up to a sudden twinge of pain as she shifted in bed. Before even opening her eyes, she felt Matthew's weight against her body and the memories from the previous day rushed to her mind, haunting her again. Hoping that it had all been nothing but a nightmare, her eyelids slowly fluttered open and she felt that painful void anew as she gazed down at her flat stomach, resting her hands where her baby should lay. Suddenly though, she felt an inexplicable urge to go to her daughter, see her, talk to her, hold her. Moaning silently, as she still felt very sore, she carefully freed herself from Matthew's embrace, doing her best not to wake him, grabbed her robe and, in trembling legs, walked down the hallway.

Once she reached the soft-yellow-painted room, her eyes immediately went to the back wall. As she looked at the incubators, lined side-by-side, her blood ran cold and she realized that she didn't know if her girl still breathed in one of them. Gathering all her strength, Mary asked a nurse about her baby and her whole body trembled in a mix of emotion and relief when she learned that, in spite of a very difficult night, her girl was still fighting. "You can see her if you want to," the woman smiled gently and pointed towards one of the metal boxes. "She's right there."

In shaky legs, but with a tender smile on her lips, Mary hugged herself and slowly approached the indicated spot, holding her breath as she saw her small darling lying peacefully, covered only by a soft pink blanket. "Hello," the mother said gently, unsure if the baby could even understand her, and tears stung her dry eyes. As to greet her back, the baby let out a small cry, stronger than the one from the day before, and the sound filled every fiber of Mary's heart with emotion – her daughter was definitely a fighter. "You know," she smiled, "a while ago I told your Grandpapa that I wished I wasn't stubborn, but I'm glad to see that you're as stubborn as your Mama," she laughed softly and more tears escaped from her eyes.

As Mary glanced at her yet-to-be-named child, she realized how unworthy of that little girl she was, how little she had done to deserve that unwanted gift. Suddenly, everything came back to her mind – how she had flirted with Pamuk, how she had tried to refuse him and finally how she had given in to temptation. And then she remembered how she had felt dirty for days, how she had felt sick whenever she looked at the mirror and finally how angry she had been when she found out she was pregnant. She had felt so furious, so bitter, so mad at that tiny baby that never asked to be born. She had wished so badly that it didn't exist or that she wouldn't have to carry it. And then she looked at the bundle in front of her again and cursed herself for being so naïve, blaming herself for all that had happened – because if she had been stronger, if she had loved her baby from the minute she had learned about her, perhaps nothing of that would have happened. But it was too late, even if, at that moment, she couldn't quite describe the intensity and the strength of the attachment she already felt for that child. And she cried once more. She cried and apologized to her daughter over and over again.

Apologizing wouldn't be enough, she realized. It wouldn't make her go back in time and it wouldn't make her baby healthy. But her girl was there, alive, and a feeling of insurmountable love and protection overtook her as she thought of her baby fighting for her life. And she finally understood that she didn't care about what people thought of her anymore, but that her daughter would be protected. And she promised her baby that during the time they would have together, a few hours or a lifetime, she would do her best to always make her feel loved, that her past would never get in their way again.

As the baby squirmed and blubbered, after a few moments of silence, Mary looked fondly at her and talked to her, so she would know that she wasn't alone – that she would never be alone. "You know, Mama's home is very far from here and it's very big too," she started to tell her all about Downton. She told her about the beautiful grounds, about the big horses that she used to ride, about how she would hide from the governess when she was a child, about how Aunt Sybil would come to her bed when there was a storm, about Grandpapa's adorable dog, about Carson and how he had caught her trying to run away once – and she found herself delighted at the memories. Then she talked about the confident she had found in Anna, about Granny being a softy – although she'd never admit it, about the big ballrooms where they'd dance, the wonderful dresses, she even told her about the big fights she used to have with Aunt Edith. And she told her daughter that she needed to be strong and keep fighting so they could visit someday –perhaps she would even let her ride Diamond, and Mary smiled at the thought.

But then she noticed Matthew's reflex on the incubator's glass and she froze. Her blood ran cold and she felt her heart being crushed because she knew, the moment he walked in, that her daughter would never see the reality she had just described. She finally understood that they could not go back and that she could not be with Matthew. If she wanted her baby to truly grow happy, she would have to start fresh and that meant never going back to Downton, with Matthew, however, that'd never be possible. Not only because she feared that he'd look differently at her daughter, given that he knew the circumstances of the night she had been conceived, but because he had a duty to the Estate and sooner or later he'd have to go back and she could not submit her child to that. She looked at the baby again and realized how fragile she was and the thought that she might not make it momentarily crossed her mind – but she didn't push it through because that simply wasn't an option. And so she broke down and apologized for everything that would be taken away from her baby because of her own foolishness. "I'm sorry," she choked over and over again.

* * *

She entered the hospital bedroom silently, shrugging and folding her arms around herself – a very unladylike posture, especially for Mary. He was in the chair near the window, daydreaming as he gazed at the outside life. Her stomach dropped again at the sight of him and she considered what she was about to do, but she knew that there was no other way. However, before he noticed her presence, she looked at him, really looked at him, memorizing every one of his traces and saying goodbye in her own way.

"Darling," he stood up slowly and moved towards her as he finally noticed her presence. But he quickly saw that something was amiss, not only because of her vulnerability, but also because of the deep pain in her eyes.

"I meant it yesterday," she cried and faced away from him. "Go."

"Mary, please," he begged and the look in his eyes felt like a knife cutting into her chest.

"Don't you see it? There's no reason for you to marry me now – you're free," her hand flew to her mouth, trying to muffle a sob. She had to do that for her daughter, she had to be strong because her own happiness didn't matter anymore. And she also realized that that wasn't only about herself and the baby, Matthew deserved a life too and she couldn't ask him to give that up for her. His family, his work, everything was at Downton, not in America and sooner or later he'd see that too.

"Did you ever love me?" his eyes were red as he tried to bite the tears back.

"Oh Matthew, why do you have to make everything so black and white?" she snapped.

"Mary…" he begged again.

"Don't you see it?" she knew that if she was harsh enough he'd give up. "I don't need you anymore."

His heart thudded loudly, his hands started to shake as the meaning of her words finally sunk in. Was the baby…? But no, that couldn't be. He gathered every last drop of self-control not to shake her and scream at her, to try to make her see that there was much more to them. "So that's what this was all about," he whispered bitterly at last.

"Go back and say that I wouldn't see you," she straightened up and dried her eyes. "It'll be easier this way. But please, just go."

He glanced at her one last time. Her eyes were red, in her face, however, an unreadable expression. That was a lost battle, he realized.

"Goodbye, Mary," he turned back and left.

* * *

He went back to England and Mary was never mentioned. As the months went by, he hoped for a letter or something, any sort of news, but there was nothing. The months then turned into a year and 1914 brought a longing ache with it. Suddenly, he realized that he couldn't bear to live there anymore, that everything reminded him of her: the gardens, the house, the horses, the flowers. And when the war broke, his wish became true in the most twisted way, forcing him to go.

He went to France, to the war and he fought in the trenches. He killed men and he feared being killed. At night, however, it wasn't the screams and the deaths of his surroundings that haunted him, it was Mary telling him to go, it was the image of that baby girl not breathing anymore. But those same dreams were what allowed him hold onto hope. He didn't realize that, or at least wouldn't acknowledge it, but it was the hope to see her – to see them – again that kept him going.

But the dreams were also painful and with 1915 came a need to move on, to try and find a light at the end of the tunnel. During one of his leaves, he met someone, Lavinia, a sweet girl who seemed dazed by the very image of him. Without considering the consequences of his actions, he asked for her hand in marriage and convinced himself that he loved her. He knew, however, that it wasn't that that had led to his actions, it was the safety that she represented, the fact that she would love him more than he would ever love her – and perhaps he wouldn't get hurt again.

1916 arrived quietly and so it went away. In 1917, however, his world collapsed. When he was injured in the battlefield and he lost his ability to walk, he decided that maybe everything had happened for a reason. Maybe it had been better for Mary to have left him, what use did he have to anyone while he was like that? However, after months of disbelief, he started to feel his legs again and it was Mary the one he wanted to share the news with. But he wasn't the only one to notice that and Lavinia finally found the courage to break it off with him. And so his was alone again.

In 1918 the war finally came to an end, allowing everyone to breathe easy again. But that wasn't what marked that year for Matthew.

It was Christmas and, as usual, no one had mentioned Mary. However, when the party was over and he was about to enter the car and go back to Crawley house, Cora pulled him aside and handed him a carefully folded piece of paper.

"What's this?" he looked up at her surprised.

Cora swallowed hard and finally found her voice. "She's back," she whispered, her eyes watery and red.

"What? Why?" he couldn't think straight, he couldn't breathe, the paper felt like burning fire in his hands.

She wanted to tell him everything, how she had felt guilty for hiding the truth from him during all those years, but she couldn't betray her daughter like that. So she thought that perhaps he'd understand everything if he saw it with his own eyes. "Matthew, when you were injured, it was her name you called," she finally said. "When she writes, you're the first one she mentions," she paused and gently squeezed his hand, where the note was. "Please, just consider this."

He glanced at her and didn't say anything, slipping the paper into his pocket and leaving without looking back.

* * *

He didn't know for how long he had been standing motionless in front of that beautiful house in Bath. He wasn't even sure that he should be there, but he needed to see her again – even if for one last time.

After Cora had given him the address, he had wanted to throw it away, to ignore her words completely and go back to his comfort zone, but how could he? It was Mary and she was back. He hadn't wanted to go after her, or at that's what he had told himself that night, but the desire to see her had almost unconsciously driven him there. And before he knew it, he was in Bath, standing straight in front of that grand house – her house.

Suddenly though, he heard the noise of a door being unlocked and he felt his heart in his throat. He looked around and tried to turn away and leave, but it was too late. And he froze at the sight in front of him.

"Matthew," she gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. She stared at him unbelievingly, not daring to hope that he was real.

The two of them stood motionless, blinking in disbelief and trying to find the words to say something. But what could they say? It had been so long, so much had changed, so much had happened. It almost felt pointless to talk about their past. At the same time however, as they gazed at each other, it felt as if nothing had changed, it was as if they were back at Crawley House so many years before.

"We should talk," she said at last. "Please, do come in."

It was a big, beautiful house, he noted as she showed him to the drawing room. "You're back," he whispered as she motioned for him to sit down, still having trouble to believe that she was real.

"Matthew," she looked pointedly at him and he immediately understood that there was much more to that than he could imagine and that she was willing to share. But he needed to know.

"Why are you here?" after an odd moment of silence, he finally gathered the courage to ask.

"It's…" she sighed and looked down at her hands, twining her fingers nervously. "It's complicated."

"Mary, why are you here?" he asked firmly again.

"I had to…" but before she could say more, a little girl stormed into the room, catching both of them unprepared.

"Mama, Mama," she cried and tugged at Mary's skirt. "You promised to go to the park with us."

"You and Nanny are back already?" she opened her eyes and pretended to be surprised. Then she bent down and scooped the girl into her arms. "Heavens! I must have lost track of time," she smiled playfully. "Now give Mama a kiss." The girl looked teasingly at Mary and pressed a quick kiss to her mother's cheek. "That's better," she said and tickled the girl's side, pressing several kisses to her rosy cheeks as they laughed together.

Matthew's world collapsed as he looked at them. His heart thudded loudly, his hands were sweaty and he felt as if his legs wouldn't be able to support the weight of his body anymore. _It couldn't be_. He glanced, flabbergasted, at them again. She was a beautiful little girl, her features were very delicate and she didn't look more than four years old. Her hair was brown, but not the same as Mary's, no, it was lighter; her eyes were a greenish blue and her skin was pale, but darker than Mary ever was. _No, it definitely couldn't be_.

"She looks like Robert," he finally managed to say. The girl was indeed her grandfather's spitting image.

Mary smiled shyly at him and the girl buried her face in Mary's neck. "Matthew, there's someone I'd like you to meet," she said softly. "This is my daughter Louisa," she stroked the girl's hair and gently kissed the top of her head. "Lissie, say hello to Mama's cousin Matthew."

And his heart stopped again. _It was her_.

* * *

_*A/N: Phew! Such an intense chapter to write! What did you think?_

_First of all, thank you so much for **oiseaus** for all the encouragement!_

_Now, let's talk about this chapter... I'm sorry I skipped so many years, I didn't want to do that, but I decided that this way the story would flow better. If I had gone into the war years, Matthew being away would have been terrble for what I have in mind, not to mention that I needed Louisa to be older, because she'll tell Matthew a veeeeery interesting and much unexpected story. Oh! And her name is Louisa for a reason that you'll discover next chapter lol And the city is Bath because Louisa's name reminded me of Jane Austen's Persuasion ;D_

_About MM, the thing is, if there's one problem between those two, it's that they don't talk openly, they just assume that they know what the other is thinking/feeling and they act harshly. But if you observe, even after everything that happened and all those years apart, the intensity of their love didn't change (even if they won't admit it). And that's what I wanted to work around on this chapter._

_I don't often like the things I write, but I'm quite proud of how this chapter turned out. But I did take quite a turn here, so love it or hate it, I'd really love to know your thoughts! Please review and tell me if you think I made a huge mistake changing my original plans so much. And I promise not to keep you in the dark for long, the next chapter will come soon lol Xx_

_Oh! And happy Easter to those of you who celebrate it! :D_

_Ps.: if you go to Google images and search for "first incubator", you see exactly what I tried to describe._


	5. Chapter 5

**Breath of Life: chapter 5**

_Previously..._

_Mary smiled shyly at him and the girl buried her face in Mary's neck. "Matthew, there's someone I'd like you to meet," she said softly. "This is my daughter Louisa," she stroked the girl's hair and gently kissed the top of her head. "Lissie, say hello to Mama's cousin Matthew."_

_And his heart stopped again.__It was her__._

* * *

He stared blankly at mother and daughter, as if he could see straight through them. In fact, the only image in his mind at that moment was that tiny baby that he had, for so many years, believed to be dead. And now she was right in front of him. "Louisa," he whispered, neither to Mary nor to the girl, but to himself as everything finally started to sink in. "Warrior,"* he said softly again and glanced at Mary, seeking some sort of confirmation. She locked her gaze in his and didn't say anything, nodding slightly instead – an unspoken truth in her eyes. _It was her_.

And Matthew froze again. He had, long before, buried that little spark of hope to see them again, to see her alive. He had, many years afore, told himself that he ought face the truth and stop dwelling on his dreams – Mary and their children, their family. But the image right before him wasn't a dream, Mary and Louisa were very much real and the imminence of that reality scared him more than any dream he had ever had – not dreams, nightmares. And that tangibility was exactly what frightened him. In his dreams, he could not be hurt, in his dreams they would not leave him, not really anyway; right there, however, he had everything to lose. But he glared at the pair of them again and realized that, in fact, he didn't have anything to lose because Louisa wasn't his daughter and Mary wasn't his wife. And the truth that those words carried was more painful than the possibility of losing them again. After all, how can you lose what you don't have?

But, as he felt completely powerless, he was also cognizant that his feelings hadn't changed. He had never expected to come across that situation – he had never hoped to, but he realized that he was not angry at Mary for hiding her daughter from him for so long. _Her daughter_, he reminded himself. What right did he have to feel anything? None, he admitted. But that didn't mean that he wasn't frustrated, sad and even disappointed to have been kept in the dark for so long. And that also didn't mean that he couldn't love her just like the first time he had seen her so small and fragile, only hours after she was born. And he looked at her again. She was such a beautiful little girl, not like Mary or Pamuk, but in her own unique way. And his heart lurched at the sight of her; it seemed almost surreal to have her there, right in front of him.

"Hello, Louisa," his voice trembled, clearly full of emotion. "I haven't seen you since you were about this size," he bent down and, with his hands, showed her what he meant, smiling tenderly at her.

"Really Mama?!" the girl, who had been hiding shyly behind her mother, opened her eyes in surprise and excitedly asked her.

Mary chuckled softly at her daughter's silliness and nodded in confirmation. "Yes, darling," she said and ran her fingers through Louisa's hair.

"I've missed you and your Mama very much, you know," he smiled gently again and fixed his gaze upon the child, not daring to look at Mary after such frankness. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure why he had spoken so openly.

And his confession really did catch her off guard. She had always been very much aware that he had loved her, but could he still feel anything for her after all those years? After all the secrets she had kept? She had missed him, more than she thought she would and more than she would like to admit. She had wanted to write, to somehow tell him everything, but how could she? And if she had said anything, what would have happened? As much as she had cared for him – _loved_ him, could he have loved her daughter? Would it be fair to ask him to give up the only life he had ever known for them? And she had meant it when she had said that they barely knew each other, what if their feelings were no more than a pretty picture they had both painted? Those were risks that she couldn't afford to take.

"Have you?" she finally managed to ask as she glanced at him with expectant eyes and a labouring heart.

"I have," he said firmly as he finally gathered the courage to gaze at her – the same lovingly look from that day when he first entered her hospital room. And, at his own words, he finally understood why he couldn't find it in him to be cross with her, why he knew that, logically, he should be angry, furious even, but he wasn't. He couldn't be angry at her because the fear of never seeing them again was bigger than any resentment he felt. And so it finally dwelled on him that he still loved her just like he had that day when he first arrived in Newport.

And Mary, for a brief moment, gazed firmly at his eyes and smiled gently at him, trying her best not to transpire any sort of weakness. Oh, but his words did affect her – they felt like a knife cutting through her chest. She had always refused to believe in her mother's words when she told her that Matthew still loved her, she had always been so skeptical when either Cora or Robert, even Violet, had said her that perhaps, if she told Matthew, they could work things out. But could they have been right? And, looking at him, she admitted to herself that maybe – just maybe – there was hope after all. However, she also knew that there was much they needed to talk about and that it wouldn't be simple, let alone easy.

And his confession held too much – more than they could handle, more than they could say. Unsure of what to do and unwilling to break that moment, they just kept staring at each other, dazed by the other's very image and completely unaware of their surroundings.

"Mama," Louisa cried at last, tugging at Mary's hand, slightly annoyed at their inertness. "Can cousin Matthew read a story with us?"

Mary felt her heart tremble. She knew that she wasn't ready for that yet and surely Matthew wasn't either. But how could she deny her daughter's wishes without making it seem that his presence was unwanted? "Oh my darling," she looked down at her daughter and smiled gently, "I'm sure Cousin Matthew is very busy, perhaps another day."

But the girl turned to Matthew and asked again. It had always been only the two of them and, as much as she wouldn't change that, the feeling of someone else that seemed to like her, to care for her was something entirely new that she wasn't ready to let go quite yet. "Please?" she said softly, with adorable puppy eyes and a tremble bottom lip; a sight that made Matthew laugh a little as his heart swelled with love.

He gazed hesitantly at Mary and then, unable to read her expression, back at the girl. "You know," he smiled, "I think I might have time for one story – if that's okay with your Mama." He shrugged and glanced at Mary with apologetic eyes.

"Please Mama?!" the girl smiled so brightly and with such excitement that Mary's was unable to say anything but yes.

"Alright," she sighed, but chuckled a little at the girl's reaction. However, she also glanced quickly at Matthew and he immediately understood that things weren't settled and that there was still much they needed to talk about and he nodded gently at her, in some sort of confirmation, reassurance even.

And so the three of them finally made their way to the nursery – Matthew's heart tugging loudly as Louisa, so naturally, held his hand and led him all the way to her room.

* * *

As they entered the nursery, the child quickly let go of Matthew's and her mother's hands and ran towards a sitting area near the window, closely followed by Mary.

"Shouldn't stories be told during bed time?" Matthew laughed softly as he eased himself into a chair in front of the spot where Louisa stood, waiting for her mother.

"I'm afraid we have a little tradition of our own," Mary smiled as she sat on the settee by the window, lifting the little girl on to her lap and gently brushing a lock of hair away from her eyes. She pressed a kiss to the girl's forehead and continued. "You see, we read a story together every afternoon."

"Oh?" he looked at them curiously.

"Yes!" Louisa grinned. "Mama says she used to read to me when I was very, very little so I'd know that she was always with me," she said as she played distractedly with her mother's necklace. And, because of that, she missed the understanding look that transpired between her mother and their cousin.

Mary had read to her daughter every day while she was at the hospital. As they wouldn't always allow her into the nursery at night, she'd see her daughter every afternoon and she'd spend hours just babbling to her. She would tell her stories about princes and princesses, about the beautiful animals at the park near the hospital, about the crazy life at the big city and about everything they'd do as soon and she got better – because she would, Mary always told herself. And when Lissie finally got stronger and went home, Mary couldn't stop with their little tradition. She decided that, considering the uncertainty of life, it was important to spend as much time as possible with her child and make sure that she knew that she was very much loved. So every day they'd sit together, just the two of them, and Mary would tell her a tale, a short story or anything that was in her mind and they'd spend hours just talking and laughing, delighted, together.

"That's right," Mary finally said as she stroked the girl's hair again and pinched her nose. "So you'd know that I was always with you."

Matthew's heart lurched to think of everything they'd been through and how he could not have been there; at the same time however, he felt incredibly proud to see Mary's strength and how she was such a good, dedicated mother. And suddenly he was simply dazed by the very image of them.

When he finally found his voice, he did his best to sound cheerful and hide all the emotion from his tone. "Well, what shall we read today?" he asked the girl.

"Oh Mama," she said excitedly. "Can you tell me the story of Andromeda again?"

Mary froze. She caught her breath and slowly turned her head towards Matthew; he was as surprised as her, she noticed. Old memories and long-buried feelings resurfacing as those words hung in the air.

_I've been studying the story of Andromeda, do you know it?_

It was too much, too much pain, too many memories. It was something that neither of them could handle quite yet. She bit back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes and looked apologetic at him, then she promptly turned to her daughter and tried her best to steady her voice. "Darling," she looked lovingly at the girl, "why don't you choose something else? We've read this story twice this week," she forced a soft laughter.

"Alright," the girl shrugged in such a Lady-Mary-like way that Matthew had to muffle a laugh. But her expression changed immediately as she quickly opened her eyes and glanced expectantly at him, clearly up to something. "Cousin Matthew," she smiled slyly, "you've know Mama for a long time, right?"

He looked confused between Mary and the girl. "Yes, I suppose," he said at last, unable to figure out what the girl was about to ask.

"She always talks about her big house, the people who work there, her Papa and her Mama, but she never tells me anything about what she used to be like," she crossed her arms in front of herself, looking slightly annoyed. "Do you know any stories about Mama?"

Mary and Matthew both laughed at the mix of expectation and annoyance in the girl's face and he discretely glanced at Mary, seeking some kind of permission to go on. Feeling his eyes upon herself, she looked back at him and smiled shyly, nodding lightly in consent.

So he told her about the day when she fell from Diamond because she was too stubborn to listen to Lynch, about the time when she took care of a little bird that had fallen from its nest, about how she loved to read, about how well she could sing. And the three of them spent hours just talking and laughing together. Suddenly, it wasn't difficult anymore. But they also knew that it wouldn't be as easy as that, sooner rather than later they would have to face the not so nice memories of their past, they knew that they couldn't ignore that. And when Mary finally interrupted their frolic and announced that it was time for Louisa's bath, they both became extremely aware that that time might be closer than they would like.

* * *

They descended the stairs silently, not daring to look at the other, both of them walking carefully and hesitantly until they finally reached the drawing room. The imminent discussion haunting them, the words floating around their heads.

"Should I ring for tea?" Mary's voice trembled as she asked, looking down at her entwined fingers.

Matthew took a step closer and gazed firmly at her. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered and his breath tickled her skin; she hadn't noticed how close he was.

_Because I didn't know how. Because I was scared, because I didn't know if my baby would survive. Because we've done well on our own, because we've been happy, because I didn't know if I could ever come back .Because I couldn't be sure of anything._

As she gathered herself, she took a steadying breath and raised her head, a different kind of tension washing all over her body as her eyes met his.

"Oh Matthew," was all that came out of her mouth, what else could she say?

"Why, Mary?" he repeated and she could sense the pain in his trembling tone. She looked at him again, but didn't say anything. She wanted to tell him everything that had happened, but would he understand? Would it change anything? And where could she even begin? So many things had happened over the past few years and she was happy – truly happy for the first time in so long. She wasn't sure if she was ready to risk bringing back that heavy atmosphere that always seemed to accompany them. At her lack of response, he continued. "For God's sake, Mary," he sighed and a single tear appeared on his cheek. "I thought she was dead. You could at least have told me that she wasn't."

Mary's hand went to her mouth to muffle a dry sob and shy tears started to fall from her eyes. "I wanted to," she whispered at last.

"Why didn't you then?" he turned away from her and paced across the room.

She braced herself and slowly walked to the place where he stood, stopping only a few inches behind him. She carefully reached out to touch his shoulder, but decided against it, swallowing nervously and drying the tears from her eyes instead. "Matthew," she sighed and he turned to face her, her heart dropping at the sight of his red and wet eyes. "I wasn't lying when I told you that you didn't know me," she admitted at last. "I didn't know you also. And it wasn't about me anymore, there was Louisa." He slowly breathed in and out and opened his mouth to speak as he gazed firmly at her, but she interrupted him. "It was so difficult, Matthew – and she wasn't your daughter. But then we did well on our own and I couldn't risk that," the last sentence came out almost as a whisper.

At her confession, he finally started to understand why she hadn't said anything. He finally saw that she had been scared, that it had been too much pressure, that she had been afraid to risk it and make the wrong choice. At the same time however, he felt extremely hurt that she hadn't trusted him, after everything he had done, after everything he had proven, she had still doubted him. "I wish you had trusted me," was all he managed to say.

"Oh Matthew," she cried. "Now is not the time to quarrel."

"When then Mary?" he said a bitterly. "You can't run away from your problems forever."

"I'm not going to have this discussion when my daughter is upstairs, Matthew."

"I'd like to see her again," he said downcast and caught her by surprise. She had expected him to resist, to argue back, but she had never imagined that that would be his reaction.

"You don't have to," she tried to reassure him that he had no obligation to them.

"I know," he sighed. "But I want to. Please," he begged.

"Alright," she lowered her head and looked down at her sweaty hands; her heart rate increasing in a mix of emotion and fear. "We'll be busy tomorrow, but you can come the day after that."

"Thank you," he said softly.

"Come in the evening so you can eat with us – we can talk once she's asleep," she said haltingly.

He nodded in acknowledgment and left silently. As soon as Mary heard the door being closed by her butler, she sunk into the first chair she found and finally allowed herself to cry as she buried her face in her hands.

* * *

On the next day, Matthew just wandered aimlessly around the city. All the events from the past day rushed to his head and it all seemed no more than a distant dream. He had too much to think about, too much to consider. He knew that he couldn't let go of them again, that he ought to fight and tell Mary how he felt, but how could he? So he just roamed across the city trying to get his head around everything.

_You didn't know me, Matthew. And I didn't know you also._

He shivered as the words haunted him. She had been right, he admitted sadly. That day at the hospital, they had barely known each other, and yet there had always been something that seemed to draw him to her, something that wouldn't allow him to push her away from his thoughts. And, even after all those years, that feeling hadn't changed. If only she had given him a chance, if only he stayed...

* * *

At night, Mary was barely able to sleep – all the events from the previous day and the past years floating around her head. But she couldn't dwell on that, she couldn't allow herself to have any doubts, she had to think about her daughter and she knew she had chosen what was right. And they had been happy, hadn't they? That was all that mattered, she told herself.

As soon as the sun rose, Mary pushed those thoughts aside and put a smile on her face. She decided that she would enjoy the day with her daughter, like she'd promised to, and so they did. They went to all of Mary's favourite places, they fed the ducks, they went to a delicious tea shop and Mary was able to ignore the thoughts that had haunted her in the morning.

And that night, for the first time, Mary told Louisa all about herself as a little girl. Her daughter had heard about Downton, about the people there and about the animals countless times, but never about her own mother – maybe because it was too painful, maybe because she was afraid of what Louisa would think of her. But, after that previous day, she decided that there was no reason to fear.

"Oh Mama," the girl laughed, delighted to hear about her mother stealing silver so she could run away. "Did you really do that?" she laughed again.

Mary laughed and tickled the girl's sides. "I did and I'm afraid Mrs. Hughes almost had a heart attack when she saw Carson helping me."

"I'm sure she did!" the child exclaimed fascinated. "Oh Mama, what else you used to do?"

"I'll tell you more later," she said and pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Now you must try and sleep, because there's someone coming to see you tomorrow."

"To see me?" she asked surprised and Mary nodded, looking pointedly at her. "It's Cousin Matthew, isn't it?" she smiled brightly.

Mary laughed softly and stroked Louisa's hair. "Yes, my darling. Do you like him?"

"Yes!" she grinned and gazed at Mary with her beauiful greenish eyes.

Her mother chuckled again and pinched the girl's nose. "I'm sure he likes you too."

But Mary could have never foreseen Louisa's reaction. She had been so happy to hear about her mother's childhood and to learn that Matthew was coming to see her, but the bright smiled that had been in her face for most of the night suddenly faded away as a muffled sob came out of her mouth.

"Lissie," Mary gathered the girl to herself and hugged her close. "What's the matter?" But there was no response, only the silent cries of her daughter. So she stroked Louisa's cheek with her thumb and lifted her chin up so her daughter would look at her. "Please, my darling," she begged. "Tell me what's wrong."

The girl sat in Mary's lap and looked up at her as she dried her tears. "I don't want to go," she finally said.

"What?" Mary asked confused.

"I don't want to go home, Mama," she sobbed again. Mary opened her mouth, but she realized that she didn't know what to say and so the girl continued. "Cousin Matthew likes us and so do Grandmamma and Grandpapa, and you said that they live here. And there's Aunt Sybil, Anna and Carson too," she cried.

Mary's heart dropped and she felt the tears in her eyes, but she finally understood it. Louisa was the reason why she couldn't stay, but she was also the reason why she couldn't leave. They had been very happy in America, she had no doubts, but it had also been a very lonely life. They had lived in a small house with only a few servants and there had been neither children to play with Louisa nor many visitors, save for Martha's occasional visits and a few of Mary's friends. Louisa knew, without a shadow of doubt that Mary loved her more than anything in the world, but the feeling of someone else caring for her was something entirely new for the little girl. In England, her daughter would be surrounded by people who loved her, people who were eager to meet and please her. Would it be fair to take that away from her? Would it be fair to prevent her from knowing her own family because of her own fears?

She didn't know what to say to Louisa, how could such a young girl understand Mary's reasons? So she hugged her close and kept holding her until the girl finally cried herself to sleep. "There, there, my darling," she said occasionally. "Everything will be alright."

* * *

She didn't know what had driven her there. After putting her daughter back to bed, she felt as if an invisible force had driven her downstairs, as if it had taken her straight to that small, cosy room. With trembling hands, she looked down at the phone in front of her, breathing with some difficulty, and finally dialled the number.

When, mere minutes later, she heard someone at the door, she didn't trouble herself to wait for the butler to open; she knew exactly who it was.

"Matthew," she said and her whole body shivered at the sight of him.

* * *

_*A/N:_

_*Louisa is a named derived from a Celtic word that means "warrior". I chose it as soon as I decided that the baby would survive, because this Louisa would definitely be a fighter._

_About this chapter, I'm sorry for the delay. I've been very busy between college, parties, friends, nightclubs, etc. I'll promise to try to update sooner though._

_I don't have much else to say, just that I've tried to work on MM's conflicted feelings. They both know that they want to try again, but they also know that there's still much that they need to talk about and that's not going to be easy, as they argue every time they try to talk._

_Anyway, I hope you liked it and I'm pretty sure you'll love the next chapter, so I hope you stay with me. Please, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Xx_


	6. Chapter 6

*A/N: I'm so sorry for the long wait guys, but I've never been so busy in my life. Also, thank you for the the Highclere Awards noms and for your continuos support! You guys are the best! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I tried to make it a special thing.

* * *

**Breath of Life: chapter 6**

_Previously..._

_She didn't know what had driven her there. After putting her daughter back to bed, she felt as if an invisible force had driven her downstairs, as if it had taken her straight to that small, cosy room. With trembling hands, she looked down at the phone in front of her, breathing with some difficulty, and finally dialled the number._

_When, mere minutes later, she heard someone at the door, she didn't trouble herself to wait for the butler to open; she knew exactly who it was._

_"Matthew," she said and her whole body shivered at the sight of him._

* * *

When, earlier that night, the hotel attendant told him that there was a woman on the phone for him, he thought of his mother, a client, perhaps even Cora – maybe she'd want to inquire whether he had found her daughter or not. Nonchalantly, he made his way to the desk, thanking the woman and waiting until she had left to pick up the phone.

"Hello," he said politely and there was a brief pause before he heard the person on the other side of the line. The only person he had not expected to hear from.

_Mary_.

She spoke quickly, not giving anything away, and yet he could sense a hint of trepidation behind her ever so secure tone. Apologizing for calling so late, she asked if he could come, faltering a little and struggling with words before masking her agitation behind a well-known sharpness. _Of course he would_. Fighting to find his own voice, and without giving it a second thought, he simply told her that he was on his way before hanging up and putting the phone back in place. And so, in a matter of minutes, he found himself standing in front of that grand house again, only then becoming aware of the implication of his actions – he was at Mary's door late at night, completely unaware of the reason behind her call and yet strangely sure that something was awry. But most of all, he was at _her_ house. As he took another step towards the entrance, never taking his eyes off the door, he straightened his tie and collar nervously and noticed that, at the imminence of this new encounter, his breathing had become unsteady and heavy as the jitters grew within him. The uncertainty behind her call caused his heart thud loudly, the sound of every beat filling his ears, making him dizzy.

He didn't knock right away though. As he stared at the beautifully crafted doorknob, stretching his arms on either side of his body and clenching his hands into tight fists, moving them restlessly, he thought back of the previous day and his heart quivered at the notion of all that had been left unsaid rather than what had been said. As he allowed himself to dwell momentarily on that, his stomach twisted again, painfully so. Mary had asked for _him_ – not anybody else. In spite of everything that still hung unresolved between them, he was the one she had gone to. Suddenly, that terrifying notion that something must be amiss hit him again, even harder this time, and he felt a lump forming in his throat.

"Matthew," she appeared at the doorway only seconds after he had gathered the courage to knock. At the sound of her voice, he took a step back, drawing a deep breath, and finally lifted his gaze to look at her– really look at her. For the first time, he noticed, there was no mask, no fake smiles, no hardness in her mien. She seemed almost… vulnerable.

She looked stunning though, breathtakingly so, in a beautiful turquoise gown as she stood in front of him. Her eyes, however, were watery and red; her arms crossed tightly around her waist, as if to shield herself from the rest of the world; and her gaze not able to meet his own for more than a moment. When it did, however, he finally saw the pain in her eyes.

"Oh Mary," was all he managed to say, whisper actually, while fighting against his own trembling legs that, at the sight before him, threatened to give away. At the same time that he could barely stand straight, however, he had to fight the urge to forget every rule of property and simply take her into his embrace, soothe her, tell her that everything would be alright. "What's happened?"

She stared briefly at him, stunned by the beautiful blue of his eyes – how she had missed them – and sighed softly before tilting her head, indicating for him to follow her. She could not speak yet, still gathering her strength to face what was to come, for the doors she was about to unlock. It would not be easy, that bit she knew.

Very much like the first time he had been there, he couldn't help but to look around, dazed by the splendor of the house: the grand rooms, the beautiful paintings that hung on the walls, the luxurious furniture. His anxiety momentarily left aside as a proud but subtle smile touched his lips at the notion that all of that was Mary's, that she had, somehow, managed to thrive. And it was only when they finally reached the beautifully decorated drawing room, the same where they had argued only a day before, that he was pulled out of his musings. As the butler appeared at the door, she rang for tea and motioned for him to take a seat, smiling politely.

"Please, wait here," Mary stretched her arms in front of herself and clasped her hands together nervously, glancing gently at him. "I'll be back in a moment," she smiled shyly before turning on her heels and quickening her pace as she stepped out of the room. Confused, Matthew eased himself further into the cushions of the settee and let out a weary breath, entwining his fingers anxiously as he contemplated how everything had changed over the past couple days – the past _five_ years.

He didn't dwell on it for long though, as she soon reappeared at the door holding a hat-box-shaped case and a white envelop in her hands. When she entered the room and approached the place where he now stood, he finally allowed himself to calm a bit as he glared at her and noticed, for the first time that night, the ever so familiar Lady-Mary-look in her eyes; not holding any hardness though, but showing her customary, calculated, calmness and strength instead.

"What's this?" he looked up, confused, as she handed the box to him and motioned for him to take his seat again. The envelop, however, was set aside on the coffee table before she eased herself into a chair before the settee.

"Open it," Mary said and pressed her lips together; forcing a weak smile that she hoped would be of some reassurance, comfort even.

He stared, motionless, at her instead; an unspoken, fearful question in his eyes as he clearly struggled to understand the meaning behind all of that. He looked down at the box in his hands and then back at her. When his eyes found hers, Mary nodded lightly and softened her gaze, as if to encourage him once more. Feeling slightly more confident, he turned his eyes back to the round box on his lap and swallowed nervously, slowly tracing his fingertips across its edge, rubbing his thumb across the lace that adorned its lid and carefully lifting it to peek inside. Not able to decipher its contents, he hesitantly opened it fully, so they were as clear as day, and gasped in surprise when he saw what lay in inside of it. Matthew wasn't sure of what he had expected to see, but he let out a sigh of relief, that he hadn't realized he had been holding, when he noticed a pile of photographs in there.

He didn't take the pile right away though, but looked at it fondly instead. Laughing softly, as the first photograph showed a very young Louisa opening a toothless grin while hugging a teddy bear twice her size, he finally allowed himself to reach for the images and slowly went through all of them, taking his time to analyze every little detail. His heart lurched at some, while others brought tears to his eyes and a few even got a soft chuckle from him. Most of them were staged, but the few that were not overwhelmed him in a way that he couldn't quite describe. There was Lissie hugging her teddy bear; as a bundle cradled in Mary's lovingly embrace; not quite a year old clearly struggling to take her first steps and toddling away to her mother's open arms, as a little girl pressing a kiss to her Mama's cheek. The last photograph, however, was the one that overwhelmed him the most. A very pregnant Mary, who looked just as weak and fragile as the day he had first seen her overseas, folded her hands protectively over the swell where her child lay; the corner of her lips, however, twitched gently and in her eyes a look of genuine love, adoration even… The same he had seen that day, so many years afore, at the hospital, the same he had seen when the little girl had stormed into that same drawing room. _A mother's love_, he thought.

Battling the turmoil of emotions that floated around his head, he put the pile down and rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs as he tried to collect himself. Clearly choked up, Matthew stared blankly at the box before him, a million questions forming in his mind. He knew Mary. In spite of their years apart, he was sure that he still knew her. Mary had never been good at expressing her feelings; rather, she'd build a wall around herself and push everyone away with a characteristic sharpness, wit perhaps, before allowing anyone to see her faults, before letting anyone in. What was she trying to say? Rubbing lazy circles against his temple and drying his teary eyes, Matthew finally gathered the strength to pull his head up and look at Mary. She was staring fixedly at him, he suspected that she had been for quite some time, but there didn't seem to be any harshness there, or walls. Instead, there was uncertainty, expectancy.

Sighing softly, he looked at the pile again, struggling to find the right words. He could sense her eyes upon him and he knew her to be studying him closely. Then, just as he was ready to speak, he heard her voice – her tearful voice – instead. "Turn them around," she whispered, biting inside her cheek to keep herself from crying. She tilted her head towards the pile. "It's alright," she said and a nervous sob finally found his ways out of her lips.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out of it as he noticed the honesty in her eyes. Retrieving the box to himself, he carefully held the first photograph and did as he was told, his hands trembling as emotion started to build up inside of him again.

_You were still in Mama's belly here, my darling. Oh, I was so anxious to finally meeting you! And I think that perhaps you were too… I like to believe that this is why you decided to come so early. You gave me quite a scare, you know? […]._

As he read the first note, he had to stop for a moment and allow himself to breathe, shy tears finding their way down his cheeks at last. He heard as another small sob escape from her lips and promptly gazed at Mary with such adoration in his eyes that she felt a chill down her spine and felt her heart skip a beat. She waved dismissively though, putting her mask back on, and he didn't say anything. Immediately turning his attention to the pile in his hands, Matthew remained silent until he reached the last image, save for one or two sobs and an eventual sniffle.

Every photograph contained a heartfelt note from mother to daughter; shared memories that they'd always cherish, moments – their moments – that they'd always treasure. He was astonished. Astonished and proud of the woman – the mother – that Mary had become, of the life she had built for herself and of the beautiful girl she had raised. And that was when it hit him. Going randomly through some of the notes, he finally understood it. Mary wasn't trying to show him anything. Rather, she was asking him something. So the wall was still there, not nearly as thick as before, but there nevertheless.

Lifting his gaze, he found her looking at him again; this time around, however, there was an unreadable expression in her face. But he knew what was in her mind and he knew exactly why. Those pictures, those notes were a glimpse of their life – as mother and daughter. Two days before, that had been the only life they had known, now, however, there he was: asking to be a part of it. That, he concluded, was Mary's way of showing him that they were happy, that they needn't anyone else and asking if he knew what he was doing, if he was prepared for that. The coldness, the indifference that she now showed, unlike moments before, were a mere attempt to push him away, he was sure of it. A strategy she'd only use when she was scared… afraid of letting anyone in.

Mary, however, didn't think quite the same way. She did want to shout at him, to slap him and, seeing his reaction, she had started to feel ridiculously anxious, angry even, regretting showing him the photographs. The day before, she had indeed wanted to tell him that they'd been happy, that they didn't need anyone else; now, on the other hand, she was just plain angry. Angry because he wasn't mad at her, angry because he had been nothing but understanding, angry because…_ her daughter already loved him _and she could clearly see why. Suddenly, all those questions that had been floating around her head all night started to trouble her again. Wasn't she enough? Had she made the wrong choice? What if she hadn't sent Matthew away? Should she have showed him such intimate moments? In truth, she had expected to feel better after doing so, to get the answers she had been looking for; perhaps that would put her mind at easy and reassure her that she had done right, perhaps Matthew would be furious and she would realize that Louisa didn't need anyone but her. If anything though, it had only made her feel worse.

"Louisa doesn't want to go home," she sighed heavily at last, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

Oh, Matthew thought, that was it then. Louisa had just met him and she didn't want to go home. Of course she didn't mean it, but she was a child and the excitement of meeting someone who claimed to love her was still new to her. He concluded that to Mary, however, it meant that she had done wrong. She must feel as if she had made the wrong choice, blame herself for taking her daughter away, wonder what their lives could have been like... Of course she did, it wouldn't be Mary if she didn't. But there was no point in dwelling on that.

"Oh Mary," he said firmly, fixing his gaze in hers. "She's a child, she doesn't mean it. She loves you."

Mary held his gaze, her eyes full of tears as she obviously fought against them. Shrugging slightly, she simply stared at him, unsure of what to say as she realized how impulsive she had been to call Matthew… and that she still couldn't tell what she had expect to happen. Had she thought that he would simply tell her that she had made the right choice? Or that he would grow furious and prove himself not suitable for herself and her daughter? Had she expected that her guilty would magically fade away if only Matthew, or anyone else for that matter, understood how hard she had tried? And the pictures, had she shown them to him because she wanted him to understand? Or perhaps because they would be a comfort to herself…

She wanted to scream, to cry, to fight. She wanted to simply tell him how she had always tried her best, how she had made everything in her power to assure Louisa's happiness, she wanted someone to tell her that she had done right. Deep down, she knew she was acting irrationally, that her daughter had been happy in America and that Louisa loved her, but the girl's pleas not to go home that night had awakened something in her. They had awakened that _what if_ feeling that she had buried long before, and everything Matthew had done throughout the night had only made it worse. And she couldn't help but to feel angry.

Letting out a weary breath, Mary leisurely stood up and made her away across the room. Without looking at Matthew, she poured herself a glass of whiskey and sipped the amber colored liquid before reclaiming her seat. Taking another sip, she sighed again and steeled herself as she looked up at Matthew.

"After I sent you away," she started carefully, avoiding his eyes for a moment. "Oh Matthew, it was so difficult," she finally broke down.

"Mary," he whispered and tried to think of something to comfort her, but there was nothing he could say and he knew that she wouldn't let him come any closer – not at the moment anyway. However, he also knew that Mary needed her time; if he just waited, she'd open up. And so he did. As the minutes went by, Mary stared, motionless, at the glass in her hand, breathing with some difficult, while Matthew simply sat there and gazed comprehensively at her.

"The doctors said that her first few days would be the worst," she finally broke the silence, but kept her eyes fixed on the whiskey. "I never left her side – I'd always be in the nursery and I'd tell her stories about the places I'd been to and say that she had to get better so we could see them together, but I couldn't name her. I'd call her darling or my girl. I just couldn't name her." Drawing a steadying breath, Mary raised the glass to her mouth and took another sip as the memories felt extremely fresh in her mind. "One night though, when she was 3 days old, she just stopped breathing," a loud sob came out of her mouth and there was another pause. "She coughed a little and suddenly her chest was not moving anymore," she tried to dry her tears, but realized there was little point in it. Raising her head up, she finally glared at Matthew and noticed that he too was crying; looking fixedly at him, she continued. "The nurse was checking her temperature, so she immediately moved closer and told me to leave, but I couldn't – I couldn't leave my daughter, Matthew," she choked and he nodded in understanding. "I stood behind them while she tried to apply pressure to Lissie's chest. She said it couldn't have been more than 10 seconds, but it felt like a lifetime until she started breathing again," she smiled sadly at him as the tears dampened her cheeks. "That's when I named her."

"Warrior," he said and Mary nodded. Looking at her, Matthew moved in the settee so he was closer to her. He wanted to extend a comfort hand, but decided against it as Mary gave him little time before she started to speak again.

"Every time I left the hospital, I feared that she would no longer be there the next day," looking down, she gently stroked the glass' edges with her index finger. "She could stop breathing again, her temperature could drop too low, she could get an infection," by the end of the sentence, her voice was no more than a whisper.

"But she got better," the tenderness and the firmness in Matthew's tone caused Mary to shiver as her mind was suddenly back at the hospital, on the day he had met her daughter. _She's beautiful_, he had told her.

"But she got better," she repeated and smiled weakly. The months following that night had been terribly hard for Louisa, but Mary knew that wasn't ready to unlock that door just yet and decided against it. "She was in the hospital for five months before they allowed me to take her home. When I finally did," she smiled, clearly cherishing the memory. "Oh Matthew, I don't think I've ever felt so happy." He too smiled, but his eyes didn't. His eyes showed an ache, sadness for not having been there, and love – love for the woman and the little girl to undergo all of that on their own. "For a long time," Mary started again, "it was just the two of us. I'd dress her, feed her, take her out and we'd do everything together. We'd travel," she paused and looked down before pushing her head up. "I even took her to Canada and Mexico, you know?" she said cheerfully – too cheerfully; and Matthew immediately saw that she was avoiding something. He knew exactly why.

"But she started to ask about your family," it wasn't a question.

Mary closed her eyes and nodded, but remained silent.

"Is that why you came back?"

Feeling his eyes upon herself, Mary slowly stood up and moved closer to the fireplace, analyzing the beautiful painting that hung over it as she gathered the strength to continue. "To answer your question, it's partly true, but that's not all of it. After Lissie was born, I wrote to Mama and she asked me to come home, so I knew I'd be welcome," she sighed and kept her back to him. "For a long time, it was just Lissie and I – and I wouldn't change that, but she started to ask about the people from the stories I told her... I didn't want to come here and have people look differently at her – in America no one knew us, no one knew our history," she bit inside of her cheek nervously. "But when the war broke – when you were injured," she could feel herself blush, "I realized how ephemeral life could be... One minute everything seems so bright and the next it's all gone. I didn't want her to miss out anything, so when the war came to an end…"

"You came back," he interrupted her.

Nodding lightly she turned around and was surprised to see Matthew standing in the middle of the room, his eyes, still wet with tears, fixed at her.

"And now she doesn't want to come home," she choked and faced away from him. "Oh Matthew, I wanted to write, to come back, but I couldn't risk what we had built. I couldn't have anyone judge her for my mistakes," she hesitated. "I'd read Papa's and Mama's letter to her and we would write to them together, but that's not the same – that's not the same as having a family," she whispered at last and hid her face in her hands as she sobbed.

Suddenly, Matthew couldn't control himself anymore. Taking large steps, he quickly covered the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. She tensed at first, but soon allowed herself to be held by him, taking comfort in their closeness as she cried against his chest.

"You," he said firmly. "You are her family, Mary. You're a wonderful mother and Louisa clearly adores you. Stop torturing yourself," he paused and gently pushed a lock of hair away from her face. "I," he hesitated. "I love you."

There. He had said it - he loved Mary. After everything they'd been through, there was no point in denying it anymore.

Mary held her breath. Gently putting her hands against his chest, she gazed up at him and pushed herself from his arms, still standing close enough as to feel his breathing tickling her skin. His words had shocked her, but, as their meaning started to dwell on her, they also lifted a weight from her heart. She had tortured herself all night wondering what could have been. She had felt angry, anxious, confused, but gazing at the love, the honesty in his eyes, she found her answer: they would never know. She was happy, her daughter was happy and the people who mattered didn't judge her – they loved her. _Matthew_ loved her. A glorious wave of thrill washed over her entire body as the words started to sink in.

At her lack of an answer, Matthew started to grow nervous, restless. "Do you want me to," he faltered. "Should I leave?"

But Mary still didn't say anything. Biting her lip, something she only did when she was nervous, she shook her head instead and more tears stung her eyes. Hesitantly, she took a step closer to him and closed the gap between them, resting her palm against his cheek and stroking it gently with her thumb as she looked up at him. Unable to form a sentence, she simply let out a relieved breath and smiled broadly, never taking her eyes off his.

Matthew smiled back, and equally broadly, at her and took her into his embrace once again, pressing a soft kiss to her hair and cherishing the rediscovered easiness between them.

"You know," she started tentatively, still holding a smile in her lips, "Mama has invited us to the New Year's celebration… Perhaps you could take us."

Matthew grinned and tightened his arms around her. It wasn't a promise or an oath, but they were trying and, for now, that was enough.

**tbc...**

* * *

*A/N: Sooo... I don't have much to say here, but they're getting somewhere! lol I hope that you guys liked this chapter after such a long wait. The next one will pick up right where we left here, so your questions will most likely be answered then (yep, the envelop that Mary brought with the pics has a purpose).

My life's pretty busy right now, but I only have a week left of classes at uni, so I'm positive that I'll be able to write at least two more chapters before I'm off to Europe.

Oh! And to those who have been asking about my other story (Everything's Not Lost), I'll update it as soon as I'm back home in July, as I'll need to have a little rewatch in order to write what I have in mind and I cannot do it nowadays.

As usual, I'd love to know your thoughts. Xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Breath of Life: chapter 7**

They didn't know for how long they'd been standing together – seconds, minutes, hours even. They couldn't really tell, too dazed by the warmth of their bodies pressed close together; Matthew's arms comfortingly around Mary as he cherished the tickling of her warm breath against his skin. Their matching breathing and, occasionally, the rustle of Mary's cheek against the fabric of Matthew's jacket, where her face rested on the crook of his neck, were the only sounds heard amidst the stillness of the room. They didn't dare to move, that rediscovered closeness had formed a spell that neither he nor she was willing to break – a closeness that represented more than hope; safety.

Sensing the rise and fall of Matthew's chest as she pressed her own body against his, Mary felt somehow sheltered; breathing his intoxicating scent, it was as if no harm could ever come near her again. Matthew, on the other hand, felt whole; as if a part of him had been missing until that moment – as if only the feeling of Mary in his arms could finally make him feel complete, taking him away from a self-induced numbness. Her warm tears dampening the collar of his shirt, her trembling hands resting on his chest, every little movement of her body against his own making his heart thud loudly, bursting with a love that he had, for so long, tried to bury. For Mary, however, it was his arms tightening around her, his cheek resting gently against her forehead, his hands moving tentatively to brush a lock of hair away from her eyes that would make her heart sing with a kind of joy that she had only ever known in her youth.

But, just as they were locked together in a universe of their own, they were also very aware that it wouldn't be quite as simple as that. They were not two young, innocent people anymore – they were adults; survivors, each in their own way. Sooner rather than later, they would have to talk, to acknowledge that it was no longer a matter of breaking an entail or not. Both of them had bigger responsibilities to consider, burdens to carry and truths to share – and, this time, they would not be able to run away.

Resting her palms firmly against Matthew's chest, Mary was the one to break the spell. Pulling gently away, just enough so her eyes could meet his, she sighed and finally lifted her gaze. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't ready yet, that so much had changed and it wasn't just about them anymore. She wanted to say that she couldn't do anything before she was sure that he could be a father to Louisa, she wanted to ask if things could be as easy as they'd been when he had read to the girl. But, just as her teary gaze met the depth of his blue eyes, the world seemed to disappear behind them and, suddenly, they were two young, naïve folks again; those same two people, back at Crawley house, whose innocence had been bluntly taken away from.

_She's gorgeous_. As Mary stared fixedly at him, Matthew could only look at her, analyzing every feature of her face, of her body, amazed by how, after so many years, she was still every bit as beautiful as when they had first met. And he missed her. Even as she was still close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body, he already missed her touch, the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly, her breath tickling his skin. He desperately wanted to take her into his embrace and press his lips to hers, tell her that he wouldn't let her go again – that he couldn't. But he simply stared at her instead, his gaze holding hers as their eyes showed everything they were afraid to say aloud.

_He loves me_. She thought as deep-seated joy washed over her. Biting her lip again, she gazed shyly at where her hands rested against his chest. I love you too, she wanted to say, but she could not form the words, so she took a step forward instead and, momentarily, allowed her fingertips to brush a lock of his hair as her eyes seemed to smile at him. Matthew, however, intoxicated by the electrifying thrill of her touch, could no longer resist. Never diverting his gaze from hers, he put one hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer to him, locking their bodies together, while the other rested on her face, his thumb gently rubbing her cheek as he looked expectantly at her – in his eyes, an unspoken question: _may I?_

Words were not necessary though, she knew him – she knew what he was thinking as they both fought the same urge. Chuckling softly, she closed her eyes and nodded. Moving his hand from the small of her back to her hips, he tightened his grip and her body shivered with desire; with his other hand, he briefly brushed his thumb across her mouth, freeing her lower lip and taking a moment to look at her again. Leaning closer to her, his lips finally met hers. It was uncertain, soft at first, lips smoothly overlapping as the tension slowly drifted away from their bodies. Suddenly, he sucked her bottom lip and captured it between his own, gently biting it. As their hands still moved hesitantly, their soft kisses turned into open-mouthed ones, tongues tracing one over the other, teasingly so. Soon, her lips left his and found their way over his cheek, up to his ear and down his neck, while his hands slid from her back to her bottom, then found their way to her sides and finally to her breasts, cupping them firmly. And she froze. The unpleasant memories that rushed back to her mind kept her from going any further. She trusted Matthew, she _wanted_ him, why couldn't she go on?

Sensing as her body tensed, Matthew immediately took a step back. Coughing awkwardly, he hesitated for a moment, feeling his ears grow hot before he gathered the courage to look at Mary. She was standing still, hands clasped together and eyes looking directly at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed though, and she clearly struggled to catch her breath.

"I – I should probably go," he whispered haltingly, his eyes unable to meet hers.

Moving her hands nervously as she tried to compose herself, she lifted her eyes – watery again – and looked apologetically at him. _I'm_ _trying._

Nodding understandingly, he gently twitched the corner of his lips and turned on his heels, quickening his pace towards the door. But he did understand her. He knew it had been too much and that, from that night on, they'd have to try and move slowly, patiently. However much they might want to, they had a past that they couldn't simply forget.

"Matthew," she called, her voice almost a whisper. "There's something I want you to have," she said hesitantly.

When he turned around, she was standing near the settee, holding out the white envelop, previously set aside, to him. At first, he didn't move, but looked at her, confused, instead.

"You don't need to read it," she explained as she took a step towards him, "but I'd like you to have it."

The regained confidence in her eyes, the way she looked at him, made his body tremble and so, before he knew it, he was standing mere inches away from her, taking the envelop from her hands. Still silent, he nodded and, again, their eyes said more than they could.

As he turned to leave, she said, tentatively, again. "If… you still want to come tomorrow, perhaps you'd like to have breakfast with us." _I'm trying_.

He only smiled. "Goodnight, Mary."

"Goodnight."

* * *

The next morning, Mary sat quietly throughout breakfast as Louisa chatted excitedly about Cousin Matthew's visit. Uncharacteristically distant, she would smile and nod as her daughter happily told her about her plans for the day; her mind, however, remained engaged elsewhere.

Mary had been anxious, preoccupied even, since the night before. She had not been able to sleep and now, as she felt slightly sick at the plate in front of her, she unsuccessfully tried to suppress the memory of Matthew's arms around herself, his lips against her own, the warmth of his body… After unlocking deep buried memories, she had been scared and she had been angry, but the feeling of Matthew's comforting embrace and the weight of his loving words had been enough to lift that _what if_ feeling from her heart. He loved her. But that knowledge also carried a new, strange heaviness. This time around, though, it wasn't about what she could have had anymore, but what she was afraid to lose instead. Taking a long sip of her tea, she swallowed hard and her body shivered again as the memories of the previous night rushed back to her mind. She loved Matthew. For years, she had tried to forget that feeling and move on, but she loved him and there was no point in pretending otherwise anymore. However, she wasn't ready yet, was she? Would he understand that? Would he be willing to wait? What if she never fully recovered… And now, looking at her daughter's bright eyes, another thought struck her: the letter. What would he think of it? Looking down at her hands, she tightened her grip around her fork as anxiety started to build up inside her again.

She didn't dwell on it for long though, as a distant knock pulled her out of her reveries. A moment later, the butler made his excuses and entered the room to announce Mr. Crawley's arrival. Tensing in her chair, she sighed nervously and told the older man to show him the way to the dining room, but Louisa, whose eyes had lit up at hearing their cousin's name, was fast to stand up and run out of the room first, in search for him.

"Well, hello you," she heard him say as she locked her eyes in the plate in front of herself, twisting her hands restlessly in her lap.

"Cousin Matthew!" the little girl exclaimed as the steps seemed to be getting closer to the dining room. "Mama said you were coming in the evening."

"I…" he trailed off and she knew he was looking at her. Even as her eyes were looking fixedly at the table, Mary could sense his gaze upon herself. "Mary," he said shakily, the hint of trepidation behind his tone sending a thrill down her spine.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her head up and looked at the man before her holding her little girl in his arms – a sight that made her heart glow. And, as their gaze met, she finally saw his eyes shining. Not holding any judgment or expectation, but simply shining at the sight of her.

Looking at her, every word of the letter she had given him rushed back to his mind. The night before, he had been afraid to read it, scared of what it might say, but now, remembering every sentence she had written, the spots where he could see her tears had fallen and the picture of baby Louisa that he had also found in the envelop, his heart swelled with love.

_Dear Cousin Matthew,_

_Louisa is 5 months old today! She just came home this week, but she's a very good baby, you know? She doesn't cry much and she's always smiling. She's very smart too! When she looks at me, when I bath her or rock her to sleep… oh Matthew! I don't think I've ever felt such love._

_I tell her stories about home too, you know? About you… I tell her that you were the only one there for us and I'll always be thankful for that, as should she._

_I know we didn't part in good terms, but please be glad for me as I'll always care very dearly for you. _

_I miss you. Be safe._

_MJC and LCC._

And their eyes smiled, locked together, as he looked in amazement at her. A thousand thoughts were rushing through his mind, while she could feel nothing but relief. Relief because he was there, gazing at her in the same loving way, relief because her fears had not proved to be true.

"What are we going to do today?" Louisa's cheerful voice broke them for their thoughts.

"Well," he smiled as he put her down on the floor. "I was thinking of discussing your Mama's plans for the New Year, but I haven't thought of anything else," he hesitated and moved his gaze to Mary. "That is, if your Mama still wants me to come with you."

"Oh?" Louisa turned, confused, to her mother.

"Darling," Mary widened her eyes cheerfully, "do you know where Cousin Matthew lives?" The girl shook her head. "Well, he lives very near Grandpapa and Grandmamma. Would you like to go there for the New Year?"

"Really Mama?" the girl couldn't contain her excitement.

Mary looked at Matthew for a second and he nodded lightly, then she turned to her daughter and couldn't help but to smile at the big grin in Lissie's face. "Well, only if you want to."

"I do! I do!" She said as she jumped into her mother's lap, throwing her arms around her neck. "Cousin Matthew," she turned to him, still in her mother's arms though. "Can we go to the candy shop today?"

"Of course," he grinned.

And they did. They went to the candy shop, to the park and to the toy store. They stopped in a quiet bistro for lunch and in a beautiful tea shop before going back to the house. It was awkward at first, with carefully studied smiles and gestures, mindfully chosen words. But, as the day progressed, a new easiness seemed to have formed between them. They would laugh freely, look at one another without fear or hesitation and chat amiably, teasingly even.

The light atmosphere was pretty much the same back at the house. Dinner had been a pleasant affair, there hadn't been any change of clothes and Louisa had been given permission to eat with them. The girl had insisted on taking her mother's place at the head of the table so she could sit between the two adults, leaving Mary with no other option but to nod and grin at her daughter's persistence – much like her own. With the change of setting, Mary and Matthew were left to sit face to face and dinner turned out to be a festival of daring looks, eyebrows teasingly raised and shared laughs – a pleasant affair indeed.

* * *

"I think all the excitement might have been a bit too much for her," Mary laughed softly as she entered the drawing room. "She was out like a light."

Matthew, who was sitting quietly in the settee, twitched the corner of his lips but made no sound. A little wrinkle appeared between his brows as he stared contemplatively at the drink in his hands.

Mary carried herself in a similar studied calmness – she too had something in mind. Without any further word, she crossed the room and leisurely poured herself a drink, showing no sign of what occupied her thoughts.

"Did you mean it?" he finally broke the silence and she stirred at the sound of his voice.

"What?" she asked as she closed the bottle in her hands, putting it back in place.

"What you wrote," he paused. "Did you mean it?"

Sighing tiredly, she grabbed her drink and slowly turned to face him. Looking at the expectance in his eyes, she could see every moment when she had missed him, every letter she had wanted to write, every box in which she had tried to put him over the years. "Yes," she admitted at last.

And her confession unlocked every door that hadn't been shattered over the past couple days, every feeling that they had been afraid to acknowledge. It washed over them in a powerful, freeing way.

"Would you stay?" he said tentatively, gazing lovingly at her after a moment of silence. "If I asked you to?"

"Matthew," she cried.

But he wouldn't give up – he couldn't. Looking wistfully at her, he held out a hand and asked her to sit with him, which, after a moment of hesitation, she did. How could she not?

"So you're really going back to America?" he asked sadly.

"My life's there now," she felt hear heart speed up at her own words. She had built a life for herself, yes, but _he_ wasn't there. Could she really be happy there again after experiencing the thrill of his touch, the warmth of his body, the taste of him…

"Louisa's here," he said leaning closer to her, "your family's here. Why can't you stay?"

"It's not as simple as that," she said and took a long sip of her whiskey. Without lifting her gaze, she felt a warm touch upon her shoulders and, after a moment of trepidation, leaned into his embrace. She waited for a moment, but continued when he didn't say anything. "I've built a life there. After Lissie was born, Papa gave me a fair amount of money, enough for us to live comfortably – but when she was about two, I don't know what possessed me, but Uncle Harold told me about this small city in California where they had discovered oil and I decided to invest there," smiling nostalgically, she paused again. "We moved to Santa Barbara a month after that. Oh Matthew, it's so beautiful there! Our house is right by the beach and, as you walk in the sand, you can see the mountains too, you know? The mornings are cold, but the days are so warm," her voice trailed off as a sob found its way out of her lips.

"Mary," he tightened his comforting embrace around her shoulders.

"Louisa loves it there," she tried to mask the trepidation behind her voice. "She loves to sit in the pier in the afternoon and swing her legs over the sea and she loves to go to the park near the mountains for a picnic on Sunday mornings… They even have a movie studio there, you know?"

"Stay," he said firmly again, pressing his lips against her dark hair.

Her heart melted as she finally understood it. Of course she would stay. Her family was there, her daughter was there – _he_ was there. She had been happy in California, blissfully so, but now that she had seen the way her daughter had taken to him, now that she had felt his body against her own, she knew she would not find that kind of joy there anymore. Her breath hitched as she noticed the now familiar warmth of his body.

"I still do," she said and tilted her head to press a kiss to the crook of his neck.

"What?" he asked confused as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"The letter," she sat up and looked directly at him. "I still mean it."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out of it. Before he knew it, he was pulling her to him as she trailed her lips over his ears, his chin, his neck and, finally, his lips. As her mouth found his, she kissed him desperately, sucking his lips with her own and biting them roughly. But as she kissed him, traced her hands over his chest, rested her body on top of his, memories of that night, 6 years before, rushed back to her mind – and she kissed him all more desperately. The memories were still fresh, painfully so, but she was sure that if she could just kiss Matthew, hold him, feel him, she would be able to forget the unwanted weight of Pamuk on top of her so long before. This time, she wanted _this_. But as their kisses deepened, the memories didn't seem to fade away, and she would simply press her eyes tighter and lean as close to him as she could, gasping into his mouth as she saw Pamuk coming into her room, touching her hair, lying on top of her…

"Wait," he said as she sensed the shakiness of her body.

"It's alright," she said against his mouth, biting his bottom lip. "I want to."

This time though, he gently grabbed her arms and pulled her away, staring hungrily at her – as a child denied a treat.

"I want to do this properly," he said as he touched a hand to her face, gently rubbing her flushed cheek.

She looked pointedly at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. "Is that a proposal?"

The words hung heavy in the air, she could not believe she had actually said them. Looking down at her dress, she sat back and started to straighten it nervously, not daring to meet his eyes.

His face, however, didn't show any shock, but held a sly grin instead.

"Not yet."

* * *

_*A/N: There you have it! What do you think? I had a bit less feedback on chapter 6 and I'd love to know if you're still enjoying this story. I've got around 5 more chapters planned before I can end things, but if you guys have lost interest I'll try to finish it in two. Anyway, I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter in special because I put a very personal insight here (for those who don't know, I used to live in Santa Barbara and my time there was the best of my life). Oh! And before I forget: I'll be leaving for Europe on Monday and I'll be gone for a few weeks, so I'm not sure I'll be able to update before then... I'll try my best though. Also, don't worry about the Pamuk thing on the end of this chapter._

_XX_


	8. Chapter 8

_Previously…_

_She looked pointedly at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. "Is that a proposal?"_

_The words hung heavy in the air, she could not believe she had actually said them. Looking down at her dress, she sat back and started to straighten it nervously, not daring to meet his eyes._

_His face, however, didn't show any shock, but held a sly grin instead._

_"Not yet."_

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**Breath of Life – chapter 8**

For those who didn't know Mary, she had always been the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley, and only that. For those who did know her, she was sharp and meticulous, and very much clever, but not cold.

There had been a time, before her engagement to Patrick and way before Pamuk came along, when Mary would allow herself to laugh easily and talk openly, but that vivacity had long been replaced by a coolness built upon pain and disappointment; a mask that only very few people were allowed to see through. What they didn't know, however, was that this carefully studied calmness wasn't so much of a mask as it was an armor – a shield that came with the realization of how little control de actually had over her own life.

The first blow came when she was young – too young, as she had to bear the burden of being a disappointment, of being a _girl_. The next happened not long before her coming out season. It had been a trying winter and that gelid evening had been no different. Cousin Patrick and Cousin James were there, as well as the Dowager Countess and Aunt Rosamund, which intrigued Mary. There wasn't any special occasion – none that she was aware of, but when the adults locked themselves into a private conversation that neither her sisters, her cousin nor herself were allowed to participate, she soon understood that there must have been something. At first, that didn't bother Mary a great deal, she was curious, and only that; but she started to grow restless as soon as she was told that her father had asked for her presence in the library. It was past her bedtime and Robert wouldn't send for her unless it was an urgent matter – and why hadn't her sisters been called as well? Perhaps it was something about her debut, of course, it had to be that. But the sympathy look in her grandmother's face when she entered the room and the way Cora gently took her hand as she settled by her side told her that it was much more than that. And that was the moment when any sign of Mary's previous liveliness started to fade away.

Sitting in front of her with an unreadable expression, Robert tried his best to explain to a nearly 18-year-old Mary why she would, one day, have to wed their cousin. At first, Mary thought it was all a big joke – _marry that dull boy!_ But as she looked around and saw the tears in her mother's eyes, as well as her grandmother's pained grimace at the mere mention of Patrick's name, she immediately understood that there was no game. And she should've been prepared, really. Wasn't that what she had always been told? How to be a wife? She had been taught how to walk gracefully, how to speak properly, how to behave in social events… And what else did she do besides choosing clothes, paying calls and doing the season? Wasn't that what girls were supposed to do before finding a husband? Perhaps she should have been relieved that she would finally have something else to occupy her time with... But she was not. At first, she could feel despair taking over every part of her body and then, as she realized that there was nothing she could do, she started to feel numb and only that.

And so, as the time went by, the walls built that night only became thicker. The cheerful girl no longer had that honesty in her eyes, but an icy look instead; a sharpness that grew each day as she mastered in hiding her feelings. For some, her wit became her mark, as for others, it was her defense. For those, something changed deep inside her that day – as if a light had faded away, making a girl harden in order to survive in a world where she had almost none, if not any, control over her own fate.

But her wit was not her most remarkable trait. Mary was an intelligent woman, had always been, really – intelligent and pragmatic, even as little girl. And the pain that she came to know too well only accentuated that feature, a trait that eventually became an imperative piece of her armor. And that pragmatism was exactly what helped her to accept her situation over time.

Keeping her distance from her family, she started to spend more and more time by herself. In some days, she would read or ride, whereas during others she would simply walk the grounds and ruminate. During those days, she would contemplate her future and it slowly started to dwell on her that it might not be so bad after all. Of course she still despised the idea of being Patrick's wife, but being the mistress of Downton was rather appealing, she had to admit. And would anything better ever turn up? Perhaps, but Mary knew too well that the entail could not be easily broken, not if they wanted to preserve Downton, and that Cora's money and the Estate would most likely never be hers; yet there was a way to keep both in the family. It wasn't ideal, of course, but with luck she'd be able to give Patrick a son early in their marriage and she would have to do no more than pose as his wife in social gatherings. If that was the case, she'd guarantee a position for herself and Downton would eventually be her son's, as it should've been hers – and that felt somehow _right_. Still, the fact that Mary had, in a way, conformed to the idea of her arranged marriage didn't mean that her family would as well. Violet, in spite of her belief in tradition, would flinch every time the subject was brought up; Mary knew that her grandmother liked the boy and the idea of the estate being passed on to a son they might have pleased her, but she also knew that this was not how she hoped things would turn out, that Robert would have never fathered a son to rightfully take his place. Her mother, on the other hand, tried to keep her tears at bay, but it was clear to everyone that it was not so much about her soon-to-be-lost money as it was about seeing Mary forced into a situation she knew all too well: a loveless marriage and, in her daughter's case, most likely a hopeless one.

But the subject was soon put to rest as, just like Mary, the family eventually came to settle into some sort of conformation. However, just as acceptance came, it was abruptly replaced by riddance – not riddance exactly, but hope. That kind of hope found in the most desperate of causes. For Mary, Violet and Cora, the news of the Titanic represented the prospect of freedom, whilst, for Robert, it brought nothing but concern. It wasn't as if they hadn't been affected by the news, Patrick was, after all, a dear cousin, but his death and the uncertainty that settled upon the succession represented a new prospect, a better prospect, for Mary. If only that new found hope hadn't been taken away just as quick as it had come...

And so, when Matthew first arrived, Mary's walls stood as firm and thick as ever, but this time around they were sustained by more than just wit, by a sort of arrogance and pride also. She would not withdraw herself from the family nor was she willing to simply accept a destiny imposed to her. Patrick might have been a dull boy, but he had also been raised with her sisters and herself and, in spite of everything, she did feel something for him, even if only a brotherly respect. But who was this Matthew Crawley? A nobody, a sea monster, and Mary was determined to prove that. At every opportunity she would tease, challenge him in a game that became all the more exciting when he didn't turn out quite the fool she had expected him to be. She would snap at him and he would push her, and that's how their relationship kept going until Mary suddenly realized that she didn't dislike him quite so much anymore. No, in fact there was something almost alluring about him. And when she looked back at the past couple weeks, she realized that he seemed to have changed as well. But before she had time to think it any further, a man named Kemal Pamuk shattered what still remained of her vivacity, of her vigor.

Mary didn't know what was it that made it so difficult for her to control herself around Pamuk. With him, she would let her walls down, she would be vulnerable and she wouldn't mind. At first, she only flirted with him because she was attracted by his appearance, but it soon became something more. As he responded to her flirtations, she started to feel good in a way she had never felt before, she started to feel in _control_. When she teased Kemal or played with him, she would feel a delicious flood of adrenaline running through her veins; she was defying a life in which she had never been given a choice, she was challenging the rules and it felt _good_. But it didn't take long for her to realize that she wasn't in control at all. And, that night, when she realized that she could not make him leave, she finally gave in to that hint of excitement amidst a tedious life. An incident that changed her again.

This time around though, walls were not built, they were knocked down instead. Not knocked down completely, but something in Mary softened that night. Her wit was still there, but she wasn't quite the arrogant girl anymore. Pamuk showed her a new side of things, he showed her that, contrary to her beliefs, not everyone would like to marry her, the perfect English girl – and even more so now that she was… _impure_. And, almost unconsciously, she started to open up to the world again. Her relationship with Edith remained pretty much that same, but she wasn't so harsh around the others anymore, especially Matthew. Her life still made her angry, that same dictated life of waiting for a husband, but not him. It didn't take long for her to understand that he hadn't wanted to be there as much as she hadn't wanted him there, but there was nothing they could have done, was there? And perhaps conforming to the fitness of things, perhaps accepting a destiny imposed to her and doing their duty wouldn't be so bad after all…

But she didn't have a choice, did she? No, she had been reminded enough times that she didn't. And suddenly she was in a ship to America. But when Louisa was born, she regained much of her liveliness. Her sharpness was set aside and any bitterness had been forgotten because she was happy. She was happy because she was a woman and she was in control of her life, she was happy because she was a _mother_.

And now she was in a car on her way to Downton Abbey and she wasn't in control anymore.

As she gazed out of the window and watched houses, people and trees go by, she thought back of the past couple of days – of the past couple of weeks. How one day she was in their house and the other she was arriving in England; how Matthew had somehow turned up at her door and how so much had changed; how happy she had been because things were different. In the meantime, Mary hadn't used her shield, and why would she? Of course it had always been there, ready, but she didn't need it in front of her daughter or in front of the man who claimed to love her. Yet, back at the place she once called home, she wasn't a mother and she wasn't a woman, she was the Earl's unmarried daughter and, again, she was a girl with no control over her own destiny. If only she had known better…

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"_Lady Mary," the man nodded as he entered the room._

"_Please, do be seated," she smiled politely. "I don't believe we've met before."_

"_Oh no, pardon me," he smoothed the silk of his tie anxiously. "My name is Aali Faraj," he seemed quite uncomfortable. "I fear that I've come to discuss some rather delicate business."_

_Mary's eyebrows pulled together. "I'm afraid I wasn't aware of your visit, Mr. Faraj. Should I ring for tea?"_

"_There's no need," he refused politely, in his voice a forced brightness. "I won't be long."_

_For a moment, both Mary and that mysterious man remained silent. She glanced curiously at him, watching as the man opened a briefcase and laid some papers on the coffee table. _

"_You see," he broke the silence at last, "I come here representing the Turkish Embassy."_

_Mary's blood ran cold and she could feel it draining from her face. No. It couldn't be. Could it? How would they know anything about Pamuk? About her daughter? There had been some gossip when she moved to America, but nothing concrete. No, she decided, it must be a coincidence… It had to be._

"_Oh?" she didn't flinch. Her heart was racing increasingly fast, but she had learned how to keep that studied calmness over the years and that was not the time to falter._

"_My employer received a letter," he cleared his throat nervously. "Lady Mary, please forgive my boldness, but your sister Edith wrote to the embassy nearly six years ago. Apparently, she suspected that something might have happened between you and Mr. Pamuk before his tragic death."_

_Edith. Of course it had been her, who else? Mary was nearly gritting her teeth, but her mask was holding perfectly still. "Sir, my sister and I have never been friends," she said with a dismissive laugh. "I'm afraid this was just another one of her games."_

"_Are you sure?" the man asked petulantly, leaning forward to catch her reaction._

_Mary was nearly losing her temper, but she was not willing to allow this man to see sign that could confirm his suspicions. Closing her eyes for a moment, she continued. "I'm sorry, Mr. Faraj, but I'm afraid I cannot allow you to speak to me in such manner. What you're insinuating is absurd," she maintained that perfect dismissive coolness to her tone. "If you leave now, I'll pretend that this conversation never happened."_

_And she was about to stand up and ring for the butler when the man's words hit her like a bullet. "What about the girl?"_

_They knew. No, she thought, I will not let anything happen to her. Not my daughter._

"_I'm sorry?"_

"_Word came that you have a five-year-old daughter. But you never married, did you?"_

"_My daughter is none of your concern, I'm afraid."_

"_Oh, but she is," he said sitting on the edge of his seat. "You see, Mr. Pamuk's father, my employer, has been looking for you over the years, hoping that you might know some long lost detail about his son's death. And when he finally found you, he also discovered that you had a daughter – with your sister's letter, he could only assume that the girl might as well be his grandchild."_

"_You're out of your mind," she said harshly. In truth, she wanted to scream and cry and hit this man, but she couldn't. She had to keep her façade if she wanted to protect Louisa. Yet, even if the man believed her, what would she do to prove him wrong when he was, in fact, very much right? "I would appreciate if you left and never mentioned my daughter again."_

"_Please," he looked right at her. "Mr. Pamuk's wife died during childbirth and he never married again; Kemal was their only child and his health has gotten progressively worse after his son's passing. Mr. Pamuk doesn't have any family left and he's a very rich man, if his suspicions are true, your daughter would be one of the richest girls not only in England, but in the Ottoman Empire."_

"_This is ridiculous," she said with a laugh. A nervous laugh. "And besides, as you said, sir, I never married." Pamuk's words floated around her head: I don't think our union would please your family. Nor mine._

"_If you don't mind me saying," he said peevishly, "it can all be arranged."_

_There, that had been the last drop. Without looking at the man, Mary stood up and rang for the butler. "You're out of line," she said at last, the loud thud of her heart echoing through her ears with such intensity that made her dizzy._

"_Please, consider my offer," the man said as he gathered his belongings. "I'll come back before too long."_

"_Don't," she muttered dryly._

"_Goodbye, Lady Mary," the man finally said before disappearing and leaving a desperate Mary behind._

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"Mary," a familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Looking at the man before her and down at her daughter, who was sound asleep in her lap, Mary felt her heart stop. She thought of Mr. Faraj's words that morning and felt stiflingly helpless. Desperation washing over every part of her body again.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked, noticing the hard look on her face. If fact, she had behaved strangely since he and Louisa arrived home that morning, now that he thought about it.

Stroking her daughter's hair, she gently grabbed one of her hands and brought it to her lips, kissing it softly. Sighing tiredly she turned to Matthew and gazed at him with an intensity he had never seen in her eyes before.

"Pamuk," she mouthed the words. "He's what's wrong. He's what's always been wrong."

She felt the car stop. They were there.

A shocked Matthew stared at her unable to formulate a sentence. But, at that moment, to Mary, it was as if there was no one else but her daughter. Looking down at Louisa, she awakened the girl with a gentle kiss and hugged her close. _You're mine_, she thought before steeling herself as she had done many years before. When they stepped out of the car, she wasn't the Mary who had come from America anymore; rather, she was that same Mary who had hardened over the years as a way to survive in a world that gave her no other choice.

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_*A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys... I've been incredibly busy. Not much M/M this time, I know, but the next chapters will be all about them and this one was **really** necessary. Anyway, I must thank Sofia (oiseaus) for her support and Carissa (Cls2011) for not giving up on me._

_As always, I'm dying to know what you think! Xx_


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